Bless the Child
by VampireQueenAkasha
Summary: Walter Sullivan's life was full of nothing but disappointments and hardships. Some in which were left unexplored. Until now...
1. Prologue

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"_She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..._"

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Prologue**

_Ashfield_

_South Ashfield Heights_

"Hurry up - get packed!"

The small apartment room of 302 was filled with frantic movement and hurried packing. Clothes were tossed everywhere and suitcases thrown open. A couple were moving quickly, as if they had to get out of the apartment as soon as possible. The apartment resembled the exact opposite of the stress and desperation of this pair. There were lovely things that lines the walls; decorations of cats and dogs and photographs of an stern-looking man and his silent wife.

The woman paused briefly in the hallway, soft whimpering sounds escaping her. The man stopped in front of her and snorted angrily.

"Stop that damn crying!" he hissed, lowly, "You're gonna get the super up here!"

The woman stopped sniffling for a few moments and sighed quietly. She resumed packing her suitcase on the living room chair and her fingers shook desperately.

"This is your fault, you know ... " she said, as calmly as she could, despite her trembling, hitching throat.

The man stopped and tossed a T - shirt across the room which landed in the corner of the TV stand. "Oh shut the hell up, you can't blame it all on me!" he spat, voice kept low.

The couple hurriedly rushed toward the front door of the apartment, slowly opening it as not to be heard by the other tenants. They quickly, yet carefully shut the door behind them. It did not latch completely and simply hung open just a crack.

The apartment was silent once more, only the sounds of cars and people outside the windows. A soft cooing sound filled the air, coming from the other side of the living room chair.

It was a newborn infant, wrapped up in a blue T - Shirt and still covered in birthing fluid. Its tiny umbilical cord dangled uselessly at the side. The infant did not cry, rather observed its surroundings with child-like fascination. The baby's eyes seemed to have been very intelligent, a peculiar bit of infantile logic, perhaps. The newborn did not realize its own fate as it lay there behind the chair, alone.

O

The superintendent, Frank Sunderland lumbered his way up the stairs to the third floor of the apartment building. He was carrying an handful of envelopes in his hand and was walking up toward the 302 door.

"Why can't these guys get their own damn mail?" he muttered, "I can't afford to have the box cluttering up like this."

He raised a fist to knock on the door, but to his surprise, the door creaked open on its own. Frank raised a brow with a grunt of confusion and slowly pushed the door open.

"Hello?" he called, "Anybody here?"

Frank noticed that most of the things in the apartment were missing and several drawers were thrown apart. The apartment was literally in disarray. He murmured in confusion and scratched the back of his head. Just as he turned to leave, perhaps to pursue the problem further, a soft whimpering sound halted him.

Frank turned toward the chair and slowly walked up toward it. His eyes grew wide once he noticed the infant lying there.

"What the hell?" he gasped, stooping down and picking the baby up into both of his arms, "Are you all by yourself?"

The baby looked up at him and seemed to have been smiling. It reached up with one hand and smacked its lips. Frank couldn't resist a smile and chuckled softly to himself. Finally, he resumed a professional facade and rose.

"This ain't good," he said, softly, "Where are your parents?"

The baby just hiccuped and cooed softly, patting his hairy arm with one hand. Frank studied the infant and furrowed his brows. For some reason, he felt a peculiar sense of cold as he studied the small thing in his arms. A bizarre feeling of dread.

"Ridiculous ... " he muttered, to himself, "You're just a baby ... "

And with that, he walked out of the apartment, carrying the child in his arms.

O

_Note_-And thus it begins!


	2. He Shall Be Named Walter Sullivan

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"_She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..._"

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter One: He Shall Be Named Walter Sullivan**

_Ashfield_

"Get the hell outta my way!"

Frank pushed his way through patients, nurses, and doctors alike to get to the front desk of St. Jerome's Hospital. He was attempting to keep the infant calm amid the chaos as he lumbered toward the desk. A nurse glanced up when she saw him, surprised.

"Sir, can I help you?" Her eyes landed on the child.

Frank was breathless, chest heaving in and out. "This ... baby ... " It was all he could manage.

The nurse smiled, mistaking the child's identity as Frank's own. "Oh, congratulations," she said, "You must be so proud. Are you here to register the baby into our database?"

Frank shook his head desperately and managed to get his wits back to him. "No, no!" he insisted, "This is not my kid! I found him in my building in an apartment all by himself!"

A seriousness touched the nurse's expression now. She rose and wandered around the desk to the bundle in Frank's arms. The nurse pulled back the shirt to inspect the infant more clear.

"Where was the child's parents?" she asked.

Frank shook his head, irritation in his voice. "I don't know!" he insisted, "When I walked out to take up their mail, the door to their apartment was open and there was no one around. It looked like they just left and ditched the kid."

The nurse inspected the baby in Frank's arms. "Poor thing ... " she murmured, pity on her features. "When stuff like this happens, you realize just how cold the world is."

Frank slowly offered the child to her and she scooped it up into her arms. He was glad to have the infant out of his hands, but he couldn't help but wonder of its fate. The child would probably go on living in an orphanage. Sure, it was no way for any kid to live, but Frank was relieved to have been rid of it. Something about the child made him quite uneasy.

"Once we get him cleaned up and registered, he'll have to be taken to Wish House." the nurse replied. She smiled at Frank before she turned to go. "God bless you for finding him."

Frank stood there amid the chaos and conversations all around him, watching as the nurse disappeared with the child. His whole world closed around him, only to that simple point of perspective. He was cautious of the future of that infant.

But the worse part about it was that Frank could not get rid of the chill that passed through him. The chill that came and went as he had looked into that baby's eyes.

_Wish House_

The darkened woods were filled with terrified whimpering and soft sniffling sounds.

Small, yellow shoes tucked themselves inside a small bush and tiny, dirty fingers clenched a tattered shirt over a scrawny chest. Frightened brown eyes flickered back and forth, seeking out an unseen attacker. It was a small boy, a terrified and shaking boy.

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

The shout was thunderous, harsh and it caused the trembling form to hiccup in terror. A a beam of light brushed over his head and he ducked low, keeping out of sight.

The owner of the flashlight was none other than Andrew DeSalvo. He was a slightly pudgy, brown-haired man wearing a yellow rain jacket and mud - covered black boots. He sneered and crept through the woods to seek out the boy.

"You know you can't hide, you little brat!" he spat, "You know I'm gonna find ya'!"

The boy carefully crawled deeper through the bushes, hands slipping through mud and roots. He was determined to get out of Andrew's sight and grip once and for all.

Andrew spotted movement in the bushes and shined his flashlight in the direction he was looking. He noticed the yellow of the child's shoes and gritted his teeth, taking off for him.

"I see you!" he shouted.

The child cried out and fled through the woods in a full-out sprint, jumping aside to dodge trees and rocks alike as not to trip and give Andrew a better edge at catching him.

Andrew panted heavily. As out of shape as he was, he had no hope of catching the kid.

"You son - of - a - " He doubled over, wheezing heavily, clutching his stomach in pain. He watched the child disappear and noticed industrial buildings up ahead. A smirk touched his lips. The kid would never make it into town at this rate. He had been exhausted, cold and wet. If anything, Andrew could catch him in no time. All he needed was a little boost.

O

The child panted heavily and looked up at where he was. It seemed to have been an old oil facility of some kind. He had never seen the outside world, but simply read about it through the books given to him by the people at Wish House. They encouraged good reading and he was one of the best for his age. It would be a good place to hide until morning.

The boy glanced around for a suitable hiding spot, but halted and looked over his shoulder. He could have sworn he heard something. It was getting louder and louder and seemed to have been getting closer and closer. The boy furrowed his brow and squinted. Sharp beams of light stretched out from the trees and suddenly, a blue Station Wagon burst through them, shattering the surrounding foliage. And driving it was Andrew.

The boy's eyes grew wide in horror.

"I'll teach you a lesson!" Andrew spat, gunning the engine.

The boy turned and ran with Andrew pursuing him in the car. He raced up a long ramp and darted through a chain - link door. Andrew's car smashed through the old gate as if it were nothing.

The boy ran as fast as he could, panting desperately. His legs felt so numb and his arms so weak. But he knew that once Andrew caught up with him, he would get a beating of his life.

Or worse ...

The boy ran until he stopped at what looked to be a dead end in the oil facility. He whimpered desperately and tried to look around for any means of escape, but there was none.

The beams of light from Andrew's car shone menacingly onto him. The boy whimpered and slowly turned, facing the man inside the metal monster. Andrew was sitting there, lips tightened in fury.

"I'll teach you to make a fool outta me, you little bastard!" he hissed, pulling back on the gearshift and gunning his engine. The tire squealed and the car blasted forward.

The boy pressed his body into the wall and screamed.

The scream carried all the way back to Wish House, where several more children were crowded around the walls, listening to the abrupt silence of the boy's screams. They looked terrified and whispered softly amongst themselves.

"Fat Pat got Mickey ... " a random girl whispered.

A boy nodded in terror. "Mickey's all gone ... "

Andrew's car pulled up into Wish House. The children were watching it with wary eyes. They noticed crimson splattered all over the grill of the vehicle and their eyes widened in horror.

Andrew climbed out of the car and scowled at them. "What the hell are you staring at?" he bellowed. He followed their gazes to the grill and he nodded, asserting dominance over them. "Yeah, little Mickey ain't gonna be running anymore, you hear that?" He waved a finger at them. "Let that be a lesson to all of you! No one leaves Wish House! NO ONE!"

He stormed toward the large, destitute building of Wish House and roughly tossed the door open.

A man wearing a bright red shirt and brown pants was standing inside the TV room, smiling calmly and tossing darts into a dartboard hanging on the wall. The man was slightly muscular, hair clean cut and smooth. This was none other than Jimmy Stone. A priest in secret and a fellow owner of Wish House.

He cocked his head as Andrew stormed inside. "Andrew, did you capture Mickey?" he asked.

Andrew shifted slightly and snorted. "No. Little bastard ran away, so I had to take care of it."

Jimmy sighed, shaking his head with pity. "Andrew, this is the second time this week, you're slacking off a bit," he advised, "It doesn't look good on our part, you know. The children cannot continue this slipping through your fingers."

Andrew tsked slightly. "Look, the kids ain't listening. So when they don't listen, I gotta beat it into them," he snapped, "If I gotta resort to killing 'em, to keep our secret, I will."

Jimmy chuckled softly. He had always been amused by Andrew's methods. He wasn't entirely a sympathetic man regarding the children, as the goals of his sect were far more important to him.

"Very well, but at least clean up your car. The blood will probably give your actions away." he replied.

Andrew shuffled his feet across the wooden floor slightly. "Look, whatever you do with these brats behind closed doors is no business of mine," he muttered, "You can do all your tarot card reading, voodoo doll stabbing all you want for all I care. As long as I get paid ... "

Jimmy smiled and walked over to him, patting his back. "Oh, not to worry Andrew," he told him, "We may have lost Mickey, but St. Jerome came through for us and brought us a potential vessel."

Andrew tilted his head as Jimmy ushered him up the stairs to the second floor of the building. "What do you mean?"

Jimmy looked up. "George, are you still up here?"

A scrawny man appeared at the top of the steps, dressed in a thin, turtle - neck shirt with tan pants and black shoes. He was smiling and wiping his hands with a rag. This was George Rosten, Jimmy's closest friend and right hand man. He always looked up to Jimmy for any advice and approval.

"Yes, he's asleep right now, but I think he'll be perfect." he told him.

Jimmy and Andrew followed him down the second floor hallway. "Perfect?" Jimmy inquired.

"Yes, sir," George continued, "His parents left him at their apartment. Some guy found him and brought him to the hospital. I think a child with no parents will believe anything we tell him."

Jimmy and Andrew followed him into a room. "One thing at a time, George," Jimmy advised, "First, the child must have a name. Have you come up with a name for him yet?"

George shook his head. "No, sir."

Jimmy smiled at Andrew. "Why don't you name the child, Andrew?" he offered, "After all, consider it a means to regain some lost honor in the woods after losing Mickey."

Andrew gave him a look before he leaned over the cradle and observed the sleeping infant. He scoffed. "I'm not good with names, you know that?" he snapped.

"It's alright," Jimmy told him, "Call him whatever you wish."

Andrew tittered and scoffed. "Hell, I dunno." he muttered. He paused briefly. "How about Walter? We don't have a Walter around here, do we?"

George smiled. "No."

Andrew seemed pleased and nodded. "Walter. He'll be Walter." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Eh ... Walter Sullivan. Seemed simple enough, don't you guys think so?"

The other two men nodded their heads. Jimmy leaned over and ran a gentle hand over the infant's small head. It moved as he did.

"Walter. Walter Sullivan it is ... "

O

_Note_-Andrew is gray haired, yeah. But in some instances, browns have repressed, horrible dispositions. That's why I pegged him for a brown-head. The kid's end may have seemed harsh. But seeing what went on throughout the game and back history, it only made sense.


	3. Lost Souls Without a Beat

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"_She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..._"

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Two: Lost Souls Without a Beat**

_Wish House_

_6 years later_

Walter Sullivan was crouched over an altar, saying a soft, gentle prayer to himself. He was wearing a striped sweater with dirty brown pants. His hair seemed to have been neatly trimmed. There was a book cradled in his lap, a book that seemed to have had better days; red binding tattered and pages curled at the edges. He had his eyes closed until he lifted his head and opened them, gazing upon the Halo of the Sun; a bright red circle with various occult symbols decorating its center.

The Halo of the Sun was the symbol of the Order. It was run beneath the orphanage with the children suffering as guinea pigs to their commands. The outside circle had what seemed to be an hourglass symbol at the top. To the right was a symbol that was similar to pi. And the bottom there was a Libra Symbol.

Inside the First Circles at the top was a large eye; possibly the Eye of Providence representing God's supreme sovereignty in Christian symbolism. At the top - right were mirrored rovásírás letters for "Alizer". Mirrored rovásírás letters for "Alessa" were at the bottom - right. At the bottom - left, there were mirrored rovásírás letters for "Dahlia". At the left, there were a set of scales, the same as the those left and right on the outside with the two unknown symbols beneath it. Finally, at the top - left were mirrored rovásírás letters for "Incubus".

Around the edge of the Halo, there were a series of seemingly random symbols; including the alchemical symbols for Aqua Regia, glass, beeswax, borax, burned alum, "decompose," water, arsenic, lime, magnesium, steel, "sublimation", sugar, sulphur, autumn, cinnabar, cribbled ashes, "ferment," gold (at least three different symbols for it), hematite, magnesium, mercury, oil essence, "one dram", potash, salt, silver, soapstone, steel, "take," and wick.

Walter leaned back and sighed softly. "Please ... help me read better today..." he prayed, to an unseen Deity.

"Walter?"

The boy hurriedly gathered himself and rose, turning toward the stairway. Jimmy Stone appeared at the top of the steps, smiling.

"There you are," he said, "Are you ready to show me what you know so far?"

Walter swallowed slightly, but nodded his head. He walked up the stairway, following Jimmy until they arrived in the library of the orphanage. It was piled with rows upon rows of shelves full of books and documents.

Jimmy sat down at a desk and Walter sat opposite him. He opened the book to a page he had saved with a bookmark and gave Jimmy a wary look. The priest simply smiled and folded his fingers against his chin.

"Come now, Walter," he encouraged, "You have spent all week practicing. Show me the fruits of your labors."

Walter nodded and looked down at the words in the book. He had been practicing his reading skills and knew if he read well, he would be rewarded. But he shuddered with the memory of knowing what would happen if he failed.

"'Th-Through the Rit - t - tu - al of the Holy Ass - Assumption, he built a world ... " Walter trailed off a bit and looked up at Jimmy, who looked pleased. He weakly smiled. At least he knew he wasn't in trouble now.

"'The First Sign. And God said, 'At the time of full - n - ness, clea ... cleanse the world with my rage. G - G - Gather forth the ... White Oil, the Black Cup and the Blood of the Ten Sin - ners. Pre ... pare for the Ritual of the Holy Assumption ... The Second Sign. And God said, Offer the Blood of the Ten Sinners and the White Oil. Be then ... release from the bonds of the - flesh, and gain the Power of Hea - ven. From the Darkness and Void, bring forth Gloom, and gird thyself with Despair for the Giver of Wis - s - dom. The Third Sign. And God said, Return to the Source through sin's Temptation. Under the Watchful eye of the demon, wander alone in the formless Chaos. Only then will the Four At - t - tone ... ments be in ... "

As soon as he cut himself off, Jimmy frowned, all pleasure in his face gone now.

Walter trembled. He wanted to read the word "alignment" but his voice caught in his throat. He could not hope to finish the scriptures now.

Jimmy simply sighed and rose out of his chair. He gestured with one hand toward Andrew and the man smirked, eager to carry out the silent command. Walter shook and whimpered frantically as Andrew roughly grabbed his arm.

"I am sorry, Walter," Jimmy said, smiling, "But you know the rules."

O

Walter winced sharply as Andrew dragged him away by his arm. He didn't make a sound, but he was terrified.

Walter's room had always been damp and chilly when he came to "visit". He looked around at the stone walls, sniffling in terror. He hated this place; the prison where the children of Wish House were taken if they did not read well.

And Walter had failed again.

He hated this. He hated being unable to read and always ended up punished for it. Now, he was stuck here for a few weeks. Sometimes, if the adults were really angry, he could be here for months and never see the sun for a long time.

Walter held his knees close to his chin and stared deep into nothing. There was no longer sadness inside the young boy, but hatred. Hatred for the man who beat him for no reason. And hatred for the people who forced him to read hard things.

A soft sound drew his attention toward a hole in the wall.

"Hey, hey you!"

Walter didn't move for a few moments, confused. Who was calling him? And why did they want to speak to him anyway? None of the children really liked Walter that much. They said that he was unnatural and evil. And Walter had always felt that way because of such lies.

"Who are you?" he asked, quietly.

A quick pause. "Fat Pat went to the bathroom. So we got about 15 minutes to talk. I saw him take a dirty magazine in there."

Walter crawled toward the small hole and peered inside. The boy sounded older than him and Walter could barely make out a blue jumpsuit. He leaned against the cold wall and tilted his head. Walter wasn't too sure he had ever seen him before.

"Are you a boy?"

A teasing laugh. "Do I look like a boy?"

Walter blinked, embarrassed a bit. "I ... dunno. I can't see you."

The boy in the other cell backed up a bit against the opposite wall and smiled. He was indeed much older than Walter, probably 14 or 16 years old. He had a small cut across his neck and a bruise on his lip. Obviously, Andrew had beaten him up. The wounds looked fresh. But he was smiling?

"I'm Bob," the boy said, "I got tossed in for playing a joke on ol' Fat Pat."

Walter weakly smiled. He could not believe someone who took punishment found amusement in it. That certainly was not how he would take it and not how he was taking it now. He shifted a bit and cocked his head.

"I'm Walter Sullivan," Walter said.

Bob scoffed at that. "So, you got a last name?" he murmured, "Damn, they must have something big planned for you."

Walter raised a brow. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Bob crawled toward the small hole and sat down on his knees in front of it. "They don't give last names to any of us, you know. None of us get that kind of honor," he told him, "Not unless you're gonna go out into the real world real soon."

Walter wasn't so sure he wanted that so much. He had heard scary stories about the "outside" world. But Bob seemed to have been here longer than he was. So he probably knew a lot more about how things worked and how to keep from getting beatings.

"So ... what'd they toss you in for?" Bob asked.

Walter looked down, ashamed. "I...I couldn't read the big book so well."

Bob let loose a laugh. "Wow! They throw you in there for that?" he murmured, shaking his head with pity, "That sucks." He paused for a brief moment and rested his ear against the wall. Walter got a good look at Bob in profile. He had one good ear fitted with a small tag with the numbers 10140 on it and his other ear was missing. There was a small scar that crossed over his lip. Walter could only force back a gasp.

"Dammit, Pat must have come quicker than I thought," he said, "That's a record time ... " He smiled in at Walter. "Hey, don't let this place getcha down. You stick with me, Walter Sullivan. I'll teach ya' how to read and I'll watch out for ya'."

Walter leaned back and smiled to himself. So ... a friend? Walter had a friend now. This was interesting. A pretty change to his usual terrible time here. Well, at least now he wasn't alone. Now, he had someone who could help him to read the important book.

O

Andrew grunted and pulled a lever, opening the cells for the children below him. It was high time for lunch and he had to at least feed them. As far as he was concerned, they were dogs. Feed them, clean them and put them to bed. That was all he had to do. Anything else he could do on his own terms.

Walter walked out of his cell and Bob was there waiting for him. He grinned and put an arm around Walter's shoulders. "Hey, come on, don't you worry," he told him, "Bobby boy's got your back!" He showed he meant business by pushing some of the children aside. "Make way for Walter Sullivan! This is my boy right here!"

Andrew watched the scene with a scowl on his face. He did not like the fact that Walter had a friend, or at least, appeared to have one. He knew Bob all too well. Bob would possibly gather the other children together and bring them against him. But right now, it seemed as if nothing too serious would go down just yet. Either way, he was going to keep an eye on Bob and Walter.

Meanwhile, back at Wish House, Jimmy and George were sitting at a table inside the chapel, pondering rituals and artworks from their history. The lights had been dimmed down. Jimmy looked a little worried.

"Can we be sure?" he asked, "Such a ritual has never been attempted in some time. There is no positive that it will work on one so young."

George grinned and nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied, "Dahlia has given us her word that if Alessa is not found, Walter is to be the next one in line." He pointed to a small piece of scripture featuring a sketch of Valtiel, the Messenger. "The boy will be the next carrier."

Jimmy furrowed his brow. "I sense a problem with this ... "

"Do you doubt your faith?"

The two turned in their seats and there stood Dahlia Gillespie in the doorway. She was dressed in a dark-hooded robe and behind her stood a disheveled and greasy man. He looked like he had not shaved in days and he wore a suit and tie that looked sloppy in appearance. This was Leonard Wolf. They were both middle aged.

"Dahlia ... " Jimmy rose, bowing slightly in respect.

She smiled pleasantly, and it was a kind smile, despite the eeriness behind it. "Of course, who can blame you for doubting," she murmured, moving around the table, "After all, you have yet to find Alessa, and there is no signs of improvement among the sects. They lack proper order."

Leonard behind her smiled as well. "Perhaps we should have left someone more suitable to our affairs ... " he added.

Jimmy shook his head and retained a strong, fearless stance. "N - No, not at all." he told them, "If it must be done, I will carry out the ritual ... " He looked toward a red cape and hood hanging on a rack on the wall. Dahlia caught this and smirked.

"Don't you worry, Jimmy Stone," she told him, "The last ritual was a failure, but this one...I promise you, will succeed." She raised both hands. "God will return to this world, Father Stone, and She will bring Paradise and Order to our world with bloodstained hands. All those who try and stop us will feel the wrath of our Lord."

Leonard shut his eyes and nodded once. "Amen ... "

Jimmy glanced over toward George. "Tomorrow night, I want you to order Andrew to bring Walter back to the house."

"Yes, sir ... "

O

Walter and Bob were inspecting a small frog outside the orphanage. Bob tapped it with a stick and it jumped slightly and was still again. Its large eyes moved wetly in its squishy, rubbery face and its throat heaved in and out.

"It's just standing there, so stupid ... " Walter murmured.

Bob grinned. "Hey. Wanna see if it can fly?" he asked, below a whisper.

Walter smiled back, delighted with the new game. He seemed to have had a basic understanding of it. "Okay!"

Inside the orphanage, Jimmy and George were working on preparing an altar with candles and several bizarre tools. Above them was a glass window that was suddenly hit with the corpse of a small frog. They both jolted and looked up.

"What are those boys doing?" Jimmy muttered, disgusted.

The frog was slowly sliding down the length of the window and Walter and Bob were laughing.

"Oh, oh look!" Bob cried, laughing, "It's gonna slide back down! It wants more beatings!" He picked up a stick and handed it to Walter. "See if you can smack it over my mark, little buddy!"

Walter grinned, highly pleased with the game and being allowed to indulge with a friend. He drew the stick back, prepared to hit the frog again as it came down from the roof. Suddenly, someone snatched the stick from him and he spun around.

It was Andrew. "You little assholes!" he spat, "What the hell are you doing?"

Bob smirked and shrugged rather arrogantly. "Calm down, Fat Pat, we're just having a bit of fun." He took the stick and tossed it to the ground.

Andrew scowled, enraged. His face turned almost beet red and he glared down at Walter, who kept his head low in shame. "You have anything to do with this, Sullivan?" he demanded. When he got no answer, he grabbed Walter by the arm and shook him. "Answer me, you little shit!"

Bob scowled angrily and gave Andrew a push. "Leave him alone, you fat bastard!" he spat.

Now, Andrew was really pissed. "I'll teach you to disrespect me!" he raged, going for Bob now.

He grabbed the teenage boy's throat and began to choke him right there. Bob struggled beneath his weight and even though his face changed color, he glowered at Andrew with defiance and struggled to pry the meaty hands from his throat.

"Fuck you!" Bob hacked.

Andrew snarled, taking no notice to the other children watching him with shocked eyes. Finally, something struck him on the back of the head and he winced, slowly looking down. A rock lay at his side. Andrew was stunned. He turned to see who had tossed it at him and noticed that Walter was holding a bigger rock in his hand. He had never seen or had Walter attack him openly like this. It deterred him somewhat and he released Bob, rising and facing Walter with fury.

"You gonna try that again, Sullivan?" Andrew asked, menacingly, "You gonna try and hit me with that rock?"

Walter was breathing heavily, anger and hatred filling his lungs with blackness. His chest heaved in and out in horrible breaths. His eyes alone told of his near demonic fury and something of great intensity was completely horrible in the eyes of a little boy.

Andrew smirked angrily. "Come on!" he taunted, "Hit me with that rock." He pointed at his own head. "Toss it right between my fucking eyeballs!" He held out a warning finger. "If you do it, you'd better make sure I'm dead. Or you're gonna get a beating you'll never forget for the rest of your damned life!"

Walter studied the rock in his hands, as if contemplating the next move. He looked at Bob for a moment and the boy grinned, nodding encouragement. Walter wasn't so sure of what to do next. He dropped the rock to the ground and Andrew smiled, pleased.

"There, you know your place, don'tcha boy?" he sneered.

Inside the orphanage, Dahlia watched the scene with a very pleased smile on her face. The boy, Walter Sullivan ... She could sense an aura of hatred emanating from him. And loss. A deep hidden loss that she could use to her benefit.

O

_Note_-Some of these moments were from reading Walter's diary inserts from the game.


	4. Dire Winds

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"_She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..._"

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Three: Dire Winds**

_Wish House_

Walter was sleeping against a tree when a shadow loomed over him. He blinked sleepily and opened his eyes, only to look up at Dahlia. She was smiling sweetly at him.

"Walter Sullivan, would you mind having a word with me?" she asked.

He looked unsure, very uneasy. Was he in trouble at all? He looked around for Bob, but could not find him anywhere. Dahlia looked happy, so Walter had to guess that she was not upset with him at all. So he nodded and rose, dusting his pants off.

The two walked away from the rest of the children, keeping out of earshot and pacing around the house as slowly as they could. Walter glanced down and noticed that Dahlia was not wearing any shoes. Her feet squished in the mud, but it did not seem to bother her at all.

"Walter, I am sure you were told that you were abandoned by your parents ... " Dahlia purred, "They left you in this world with no one to hold onto."

Walter said nothing, but lowered his head with sadness. He had known this for a long time. Many of the other children had also laughed at him for it. He didn't understand it because they too had lost their families. But still, he was ... "unnatural".

"Do you recall the place of your birth?" Dahlia asked.

Walter nodded once. "Of course. South Ashfield Heights," he said, "Mr. Stone told me all about it."

Dahlia smirked and ran a bony finger across her lower lip. "Ahh, so he did ... " she murmured, "But did Mr. Stone tell you about ... Her?"

"Who?"

"Your mother!" Dahlia said, sharply, smiling and kneeling before the boy.

Walter shook his head. He had not known much about his mother. He recalled white and her clear, crystal eyes. That was all he knew. "Mm, no Miss. Dahlia."

"Well, that's a shame ... " Dahlia feigned pity, shaking her head, "A boy ought to know about his mother." She reached out one hand and in it was an envelope. She handed it to Walter and he gingerly took it. "You should go see her, Walter."

Walter opened the envelope and took out a ticket. A train ticket. This surprised and scared him. Was he allowed to leave the orphanage? He had never gone out into the outside world before. So what reason did he have to go?

"Wh - Why should I go there?" he asked, quietly. "My mother is not there."

"Oh, but she is, little one," Dahlia crooned, "She's in the apartment, but she will be sound asleep. Sound aslee - eep."

Walter looked confused.

Behind him, Andrew was watching them, arms folded across his chest with a thin scowl on his chubby face. He scoffed slightly and wandered back into the orphanage.

"My mom's there?" Walter said, faintly smiling.

"Yes, she is," Dahlia continued, "302 ... her face ... You know of her face, don't you?"

Walter blinked once. He smiled more. Now, if this was true, he could find her. Find his mother. He glanced back where Andrew had been and grew uneasy. The Fat One would never let him leave. He would never let him go to see his mother.

Dahlia read this and grinned. "What?" she said, "Afraid of a fat man?" She gestured to the ticket in his hands. "He wants to keep you from her. More will try and do the same. They don't want you to be happy. So you must take care of them." She rose and chuckled softly. "In time. You will take care of them won't you?"

Walter brightened and nodded, happy at the chance of being treated in such a kind way. He turned and rushed away to tell Bob of what had happened. Dahlia watched him go and smirked fiendishly before she disappeared to the back of the house, where Leonard was.

"Are you certain he's the one?" Leonard asked.

Dahlia looked over her shoulder. "Yes ... he's perfect ... "

O

It was night and Walter was already wide awake. He crawled out of bed and reached beneath his pillow. Someone had placed some spare change and a scarf there for him. A poorly knitted scarf, but it was the idea that made him smile in Bob's direction. He was sleeping. Walter would make sure he brought something back from the outside world to him.

He carefully crawled out of bed and crept silently toward the door. It creaked as it opened and he poked his head out to the hallway. The girl's dorm was on the other side of the building, so he would not have to worry about waking them. They had been known to be tattletales.

Walter could hear nothing in the hallways and carefully walked down them, making his way for the front door. Hopefully, though, Fat Pat would not be awake or making his rounds just yet. Bob said he would cover for him, but Fat Pat was pretty smart. He had to make this trip as careful as he could.

The front door was within view and Walter made his way for it. He rushed outside, but could hear Andrew coming around the corner of the building. He quickly hid himself behind a rock, hoping that he would not be caught. His small stature allowed for him to hide in the smallest of places. Andrew's flashlight cast all through the playgrounds. He scowled and slowly walked back into the building.

Walter took that chance and hurried out through the main gates into the forest.

It was cold and Walter had to take a quick guess that it rained a little. But his determination to see his mother was all he was worried about. After all, there were no "bad people" to get in his way out here in the silent woods.

Walter began to wonder if the creatures of the woods saw him as ... "unfit" for this world. Did they see him the same way as the humans did? Oh well, either way, he had his own goals and his own agenda and he knew, that in his journey to see his mother, he would cross paths with those who would try to stop him.

O

It was loud.

Walter had not expected the small town to be so loud.

Many people were hurrying to get to where they had to go, crowding around him as he tried to see the street that he had to cross. Hmph. A lot of people. Walter observed them with dismay. They were eating what looked to be hot dogs and talking to one another. Walter silently begged for the light to change soon. The sounds were really bothering him.

Finally, the light changed and he hurried across the street with everyone, determined to find a bus station to reach South Ashfield Heights.

He found one. A mother and her child sat beside him at the bench. The girl looked to be the same age as he was. She smiled at him.

"Hi." she greeted.

Walter timidly waved at her. "Hi ... "

"I'm Mary. What's your name?"

The conversation confused him. Hadn't he heard that the people here would be against him in his journey? This girl seemed to have been eager to learn of his name. And she had willingly given him her name. How strange.

"Walter."

The child - Mary just smiled. Her mother, however, looked away in disgust. Her mother seemed to have been the rich, snobby type that hated anyone who looked destitute. That was obvious. Walter attempted to ignore her.

"So, where are you heading?" Mary asked, smiling still.

Walter blinked and shook his head. "I'm going to see my mom," he replied, "I never met her."

Mary looked a little piteous as her mother tugged her arm. Their bus had pulled up. "Well, I hope you find what you're looking for, Walter!" she called.

Walter watched as she entered the bus, surprised.

_South Ashfield Heights_

Walter walked through the hallways of the apartment building, confused and a little frightened. There were many sounds all around him; people yelling, cats meowing, and children playing. Two kids raced passed him, laughing happily.

Walter watched them go and slowly read the numbers on the doors of the apartments. When he arrived at room 302, he smiled faintly. His mother. He would finally-

"Hey!"

Walter jolted and turned to look in the direction of a man. Joseph Schreiber. He was carrying a bag of groceries in one hand and his keys in another. He furrowed his brow at the sight of the boy.

"Hey, w - wait!" Joseph called, watching Walter rush away as quickly as he had come.

Richard Braintree approached him, mumbling underneath his breath. He had short, black hair and was wearing an unbuttoned shirt and pants. He carried a small revolver in hand and chuckled at Joseph.

"Hey, what's going on?" he asked. He looked in the direction of the fleeing Walter and scowled. "Who's brat is that?"

Joseph shook his head, focused entirely on Walter and why he had been there to begin with. "I don't know," he said, "I've never seen him around here before."

That was enough to irritate Richard. Obviously, he was not too thrilled with stranger's children running through the hallways and snooping around at people. He held up his revolver and Joseph flinched slightly at it.

"I'll chase him off if he decides to bother you again." he promised.

Joseph started to protest, but decided against it. When Richard had his mind dead set on something, it was extremely difficult to change his mind. He turned to his apartment door and unlocked it, walking inside and shutting the door behind him. After placing his groceries down, Joseph walked to the window and peered out into the night. He watched Walter running across the street. Where was he going and why had he come here?

_Wish House_

Walter thought he'd never make it back in time. He was lucky, too. Fat Pat's rounds had ended and Jimmy's was beginning. Jimmy was just a priest, but sometimes, he'd let Fat Pat sleep in a bit and he would look around.

Walter rushed back into the house, avoiding Jimmy by mere inches and hurrying back to the boy's dorm.

When he got there, Bob was nowhere to be seen. He was not in his bed ... or any other bed for that matter. Walter looked around, confused. He started to feel sick now. Had Bob been punished for knowing where he was going?

"They took Bob ... "

Walter turned and noticed Gabe sitting up in his bed. He was younger than Walter and looked slightly terrified.

"What?" Walter said, surprised.

"Fat Pat came in. He couldn't find you," Gabe told him, "He woke up Bob and asked where you went. Bob wouldn't tell him. So he hit him. He made lots of blood come out of Bob. He was too tired to take him to the prison. So he put Bob outside in the shed."

Walter had to go and see Bob. He was worried and hoped his friends was alright. He slowly crawled out of bed and crept his way back outside. Jimmy was gone, probably back inside the chapel to prepare for tomorrow's teachings. Walter noticed the shed and quickly rushed up to it. But he halted a few meters. He had an uneasy, sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Bob?" Walter whispered.

There was a small hole in the wood and Walter could barely make out a bleeding, broken form inside. He swallowed hard. Fat Pat must have really given him a punch.

"Walter ... you made it back little buddy ... " Bob whispered. His voice sounded hoarse. Walter could have guessed it was from the beatings or from the cold.

Walter gnawed his lower lip before speaking. "Are you ... okay?"

"Nah ... can't really feel my legs ... " Bob hissed, shifting a little inside the shed.

Walter glanced at the heavy padlock on the door. He fingered with it for a few moments. He wasn't sure if "not being able to feel your legs" was a good thing. He had not been reading many books, but Jimmy had always told him about certain health problems in case he would have them.

"I'm sorry, Bob ... " Walter murmured, sadness in his small voice, "I should have brought you with me. So you could meet mom too."

Bob chuckled. "Don't worry about me, little buddy ... " he told him, "It was gonna happen one way or another. I guess I won't be seein' you out there with your mama any time soon."

Dahlia was watching them from around the corner of the house. She smiled, pleased with the pain the little boy suffered at the loss of his best friend. It would make things so much easier for her now. Walter would succumb quickly to Darkness.

"It's not fair!" Walter protested.

Bob chuckled softly. "Don't sweat it," he told him. "It coulda happened to anyone in this hell hole. I'm glad ya' found a reason to be out there. Find your mom, stick with her and don't let no one stop ya', okay?"

Walter nodded, determination on his small face. "I won't."

"Good. Now I don't wanna go back to that place. I won't let Fat Pat take me," Bob whispered, "I see you on the other side, 'kay?"

Walter seemed to sense just what it was Bob talked about. He backed up several paces. "Bob..."

"Be strong, little buddy," Bob whispered, "Don't be like the rest of us. You got it in ya' for kick ass things. Don't let the sin pass you by. I know you got it in ya' to stop all of this."

And then, the wet sound of flesh tearing filled the air, followed by Bob's weakened gurgling, as if had just fluid filled his throat. Walter glanced down, noticing a horrid crimson pool forming at his feet, seeping through the crack of the shed.

Dahlia smiled at the sounds of Walters sorrowful sniffling and quiet sobs. Perfect. It would be perfect.

Just beyond Walter, perched silently on top of the disgusting shed was a humanoid figure, standing probably about 6 feet. It was filthy, wearing tattered robes and it had no face. Not a single expression to tell just what it was thinking.

It was Valtiel.

O

_Note_-I have a feeling this story's gonna make even ME cry.


	5. Watchful Eyes

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"_She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..._"

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Four: Watchful Eyes**

_Wish House_

Walter did not feel like doing much of anything right now. A strange man was there in the building with his mother, his best friend was dead. It angered, disgusted and filled him with hatred. It just wasn't fair. None of this was fair. He hated it.

Dahlia walked up to him and patted his back. "What's the matter, Walter?" she asked.

"Someone else was there ... " Walter said, softly, "Someone else. I can't be with my mother if there's someone else."

Dahlia frowned at that. She could not have Walter losing hope at this most dire of moments. After all, a future priest of the Order was no good to them in a fit of sorrow. She tried another tactic. One he was sure to buy being a child that he was.

"Oh?" she murmured, "And you will simply allow for it to all be in vain? For your mission to simply end because they say so?"

Walter looked up at her, alarmed. "N - No!" he insisted. "I just ... " He glanced down. "I'm so small and they're so big. What can I do?"

Dahlia smiled devilishly and her long fingers curled on top of Walter's head. "You are small, but show them how great you are," she whispered, "Show to them what you have it in you to do. You have the Red Spirit in you, Walter Sullivan. And He will give you that strength to wake your mother."

"What do I do to wake her?" Walter asked.

Dahlia handed him a thick, dirty book. The Crimson Tome. "Read ... that is all you have to do ... " she told him.

Walter was worried. Was this another test? If he failed, would he have to go back there to the prison? That place ... he did not want to go back there ever again. Dahlia seemed to understand the hesitation in his eyes because she chuckled.

"Not to worry, Walter," she assured him, "Just read ... fail or no fail, you will not go back there ... "

Walter smiled. "I won't?"

"That's right."

Walter seemed absolutely thrilled by this knowledge. He took the book and hurried off to read it. While he left, Dahlia walked up to Andrew and he scoffed.

"Kids ... I swear ... if that little brat Walter gets in my way, I'm gonna ki - " Dahlia suddenly backhanded him harshly, sending him nearly toppling on his ass. He held his cheek and stared at her in disbelief. "What ... What'd I do, Miss?"

Dahlia scowled. "He is a part of our plan, so if you kill him, it will all go to ruin!" she whispered, angrily, "I do not care how many times you feel you must slap him around, but do not kill Walter Sullivan!"

Leonard was watching this from the car, arms folded. He smiled, pleased. He opened the door for Dahlia and she slipped inside. As soon as he shut it, Leonard gave Andrew a cold look before he too disappeared into the car. Andrew watched them drive away with an angry snarl.

O

Walter had fallen asleep reading the Crimson Tome. Behind him hovered the shape of Jimmy Stone, a book cradled in hand. He gestured to two other priests in red hoods. They were holding a lit candle that flickered with ominous, dim light.

"Stand alongside him ... " he ordered.

The two nodded once, silent. They moved to each side of the Sullivan boy, Jimmy held out a small bowl and inside was a knife.

"Alright, wake him."

The two priests took Walter's wrists and that awoke him from sleep. He blinked a bit and looked around, confused and somewhat scared. He stared at his held wrists and his eyes grew wide. He had no idea what was going on, but he was scared.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking around at the robed priests. "Am I in trouble?"

Jimmy chuckled softly at him and attempted to look as peaceful as he could. "On the contrary, Walter," he told the boy, "You will be given a wonderful gift."

He held up the knife and Walter's breathing became heavier.

The boy's scream of pain filled the night air. George stood in the darkness, eyes wide in fear. Something in the boy's screams caused him to falter. He backed up a few paces, gasping softly. He left the chapel while the others continued their work.

The pain seemed to last forever. Walter could barely hold himself in check to the real world anymore. Through the haze of pain, he noticed a shape in the darkness. He tuned the chanting the priests had begun and focused on what that figure was. It had no face and its head twitching uncontrollably. Its red gloved hands moved and touched the boy's face. Walter felt cold all over and squeezed his eyes shut to force the images away, but they cruelly remained.

Thick, icy cold gloved fingers pried his eyelids wide open and he was forced to gaze up at the hissing, snarling thing.

Walter struggled for several long, tense moments before his eyes closed and he was immediately limp with exhaustion.

O

The Wish House was quiet the following day. Walter wasn't sure why everyone was gone and he was allowed to sleep in more. He rose out of bed and could hear the other children outside playing. It surprised him to learn that Fat Pat had not forcefully woken him. He didn't like sleeping in. It was lazy.

Walter winced and touched his shoulder. He felt cloth bandages there and grunted, surprised. So it hadn't been a dream. What did they do to him?

Frantic, Walter rushed to the bathroom and gazed at himself in the mirror. He blinked and noticed his eyes were different. Instead of brown, they had changed into blue. Walter whimpered and pulled open a drawer. he found a pair of scissors there. He didn't want to try and think about that right now. Sharp things were usually kept out of the reach of the children, but he was worried about what they had done to him.

Walter held up the scissors, sniffling and he began to cut the bandages from his small body. He winced in pain and the bloody cloth crumbled to his feet. Finally, once he was sure he had gotten the bandages off of him, he turned to look at himself more clearly. His eyes went wide and soft sobbing sounds escaped him.

The Mark of Samael.

They had carved the mark of Samael into his back. The Seal. The very symbol of the Order.

Walter blinked and noticed that the creature he had seen before was staring back at him through the mirror, hissing. He screamed and ran from the bathroom in terror. The scream carried down to the children and they frowned.

"What's wrong with Sullivan?" a boy asked.

Jimmy was standing among them, smiling. "The Ritual was a success!" he said, softly. He turned to George. "Now we begin phase two ... Ten Hearts ... "

Walter sat alone in the boy's dorm, curled by the wall, whimpering and sniffling softly to himself. Valtiel continued watching him across the room, just a silent, trembling form, much like Walter. He snarled and gestured to the boy with one finger inside his gloved hand.

Walter sniffled some more before he rose and climbed downstairs for something to eat. He did not notice Jimmy watching him through the window, a pleased smile on his face.

George, however, looked doubtful and frightened by this revelation. What he had seen ... what he had witnessed that day ...

He knew it would not be over.

O

Walter was quiet most of the time after that day. He just sat quietly, reading the books to perform the Holy Mother Ritual. He no longer spoke much and barely vocalized his pain when Andrew would beat him for no reason.

It was as if the life had been taken from him. He had no other objective but to do what he had set out to do; bring his mother into this world. Unfortunately, someone else was living in Room 302 and so he couldn't be reunited with his" mother".

He had gone almost every night to see her. At least see her for a little while. That was all he needed. Just a small glance of her to give him hope. He was going today to see her once more.

Andrew had started making his rounds, but Walter had learned an easy way to dodge him. He would climb through a hidden hole in the fence he had made a long time ago. He remembered that Bob had attempted to use it to escape.

Walter found this night to be quite comfortable for him. The air was cool and the wind was gently rustling the trees.

He smiled to himself, listening to the cool sounds of mud squishing beneath his rain boots. It would be a good night tonight. He knew.

_South Ashfield Heights_

Walter heard a sharp scream come from the apartment building. Walter could not resist his curiosity and rushed inside. He hoped no one was there with his mother this time. The scream had only stirred concern in the boy.

But when he rushed up the stairs to her location, he found people crowded around something. Was it his mother?

"Hey, Richard's gone nuts again."

"He lost his temper this time."

"I'll bet next time will be even more fun."

Walter knew who they were talking about. That man with the gun. The one who had chased him away from his mother several times before. So it wasn't her he was talking about. But what _were _they talking about anyway?

Suddenly, one of the doors opened and a stark-naked man came running out of the room. He was bleeding.

Walter's eyes grew wide in surprise.

Finally, that same man, Richard Braintree stormed out of the room, holding clothes soaked in blood.

"How do you like that, you sick little freak? You had it comin' to you!" Richard shouted.

Mike took off through the crowd, wailing in pain and embarrassment. Richard scoffed and turned to the watchers. He tossed the clothes to the floor.

"These clothes are disgusting. Get 'em outta my sight!" he barked.

A middle - aged woman in the crowd smiled and took the jeans. She obviously had an idea of what to do with them. "I know ... It'll be perfect to wrap his body in." she said, smiling

A fat man, drunk and grinning took Mike's shirt and grinned, studying it in his hand. "Hold it. Hold it...I think I'll keep that one for myself."

After that, Richard turned and spotted Walter in the crowd. He scowled angrily and held out one finger. "You! You snoopin' around again? Get your ass outta here before you really piss me off!" he shouted.

Walter was too stunned to move, at first. Finally, he broke out into a run and fled the building.

_"By the 21 Sacraments, the Holy Mother shall appear in the countries of the world and shall bring salvation to the sinful ones." _

Walter did not return to the orphanage just yet. He sat at the edge of Toluca Lake, gazing out into the water. The saw the reflection of Valtiel looking back at him. Walter tilted his head, listening to a voice that could not be heard by ... "normal people".

"I ... I don't know..." he murmured, "I ... Yes, I know. They are a lot like vultures, aren't they? ... Yes, they have nothing...No, it's not-" Walter furrowed his brow. "But I ... " He sighed heavily to himself. "I cannot go back?"

Valtiel did not want him to return to the orphanage? But where would he go? Where would he stay?

"Where ... " Walter began. He blinked. "What do I - "

Valtiel was explaining to him that he would be watching him. He would not allow any harm to come to the boy as long as he did what was told.

Walter smiled and nodded. "Okay. I will ... "

O

_Note_-Yup, quotes strickly from the fourth game! Not mine.


	6. First Heart

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"_She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..._"

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Five: First Heart**

_Wish House_

_10 Years Later_

Walter had gone missing for a very long time.

Jimmy and George had been looking for the boy for a long time. Dahlia, surprisingly, did not seem the least bit concerned about his absence. She knew that more was going on than they wanted to believe. She knew he was ... "maturing".

Jimmy seemed more paranoid than usual. He would not sleep at night and he was forgetting his Order duties. He became worried about ... his future. He was having dreams-or nightmares. He saw ghosts all around him, screaming and moaning. They had numbers branded on their bodies and he had never seen them before. Except for one.

Andrew DeSalvo.

Jimmy would have felt the need to warn him, had it not been for the desire to save himself. While the children slept, he was reading the Decent of the Holy Mother. He bit his lip with sorrow. How could he think for one minute he could control Sullivan? He was just as Alessa had been ... Uncontrollable.

The rain outside gave him some semblance of comfort as it pelted the windows above him gently.

"What have I done?" he whispered.

The front door of the orphanage flew open and a figure stepped inside, hidden by the darkness. A lead pipe was in his hand and a small handgun in the other. The figure's shoes were muddy and dripping wet.

Jimmy frowned and glanced down at a particular sentence in the book. "Deceived?" he murmured, "We were all deceived ... "

Something clicked behind him and he felt cold against his neck. His eyes went wide for a brief moment, and then he trembled. There was no mistaking the gun barrel against the back of his neck. He swallowed once before speaking.

"W - Walter ... ?" he said, "What are you doing?"

There were no words.

"Walter?" Jimmy tried again, "Why am I the one? Why am I your first?"

The figure behind him was still silent for a moment. Finally, the matured, calm voice of Walter Sullivan filled his ears. It was icy and chilling. "Don't be afraid," he whispered, "You are going to be given a great gift. Be glad and rejoice that you were chosen to serve Her."

Jimmy whimpered slightly and shut his eyes. Finally, Walter pulled the trigger.

The sound echoed throughout the orphanage. It reached George's room and he sat up with a jolt. He got out of bed and cautiously walked down the stairs. He noticed the open door and muddy tracks leading down to the chapel.

"Jimmy?" he called, "Hey, Jimmy!"

Behind him, the dark shadow of Walter rose and raised the pipe above his head. He brought it down on George and the man lurched once in pain, falling to the floor. He gasped and touched the back of his neck, coming back with a handful of blood.

"Wha ... " George gasped. He looked up at screamed as the pipe came down on him again.

The wet sounds of his shattered body filled the air as Walter continued to beat him over and over again. Finally, once the beating ended, Walter dropped to his knees and removed a few tools from his bloody coat. A rib spreader and bone saw.

He began to work on cutting open George's chest to retrieve what he was looking for ...

His heart.

The pulsing thing that housed the very soul of George Rosten. Or so he believed. He took great care in snipping the slippery veins to remove the heart from its housing. All the while, he smiled intently. His bloody hands worked quickly, anxiously.

Finally, once it was out, Walter cradled the heart in his hands for a few moments before placing it into a small bag. He had a purpose for it later. He rose and slowly walked for the door. Finally, he gave the orphanage one last look before closing the door behind him.

_Pleasant River_

The sun was bright this morning.

Walter had fallen asleep in his college dorm room. He blinked sleepily and noticed that he was on the floor. Furrowing his brow, Walter stretched and yawned. His bones were sore, from what he wasn't too sure. His night had been a little hazy. Walter noticed that he had only his pants on. His muddy shoes were thrown into a corner and his jacket was on the floor. He blinked a bit and sat up. He took a moment to wake up.

He walked to the fridge to get a drink. As soon as he opened the door, he jumped back and shouted out in horror.

There were the two hearts inside jars of yellow fluid. One was marked 1/21 and the other marked 2/21. Walter blinked and squinted into the jars, stunned. Obviously, he had no recollection of his actions, as judged by the horror on his face.

"What did I do?" he gasped.

As soon as he shut the fridge, Valtiel appeared through it, head shuddering as usual. Walter blinked and staggered back, falling flat on his ass. He panted and whimpered, watching as Valtiel moved closer and closer to him, crawling on all fours.

"Go away!" Walter shouted.

He blinked and his eyes grew wide. He could hear that same voice again. The voice in his head.

"I'm ... I'm sorry ... " he whispered, "I just - No, I can't ... Please, don't make me do this ... "

Valtiel hissed at him.

Suddenly, a knock at the door interrupted the illusion. Walter spun around and quickly fitted a shirt on. A man's voice echoed behind the door.

"Sullivan, if you're in there, I assume you are whacking it off!"

Walter sighed heavily and answered the door, noticing Bobby Randolph standing there. He was a husky African American who went to the same college as Walter. He was holding a few books in his hand. One of them was about the occult.

"What do you want?" Walter asked, neither rude nor polite.

Bobby laughed. "Jasper, Sein and I are gonna go to class, you'd better get your butt in gear, or you're gonna get in a helluva lot of trouble this time," he said, "You been late for three classes already. I ain't responsible for your ass, you know."

Walter shook his head. Of course, the classes taught him quite a bit that would help him later, he still found some of the teachings to be mundane and worthless at most. But nonetheless, he would learn something.

"Alright," he replied, "Thank you."

Bobby smiled and nodded before he walked down the steps to the college across the street.

O

Walter fished through his closet to find suitable attire and prepared for class.

Fortunately, he was not late this time.

After his class, he sat down along the massive stairway to eat lunch; a turkey sub. As two soccer players passed, one of them kicked his books with a laugh.

"Freak!" he sneered.

There was a woman sitting beside him. She scowled after them and picked up the books he had attempted to gather himself.

"No, it's okay ... " he said.

The woman shook her head. "Let me help you."

Walter made a sound of protest, but ended it as soon as she used her jacket to wipe some soda that had gotten on his books. He was surprised. She was getting her coat filthy to help him? He wasn't used to that kind of kindness.

"There, I think I got it all out," she said, "Hopefully, the pages won't stick."

Walter took the books and nodded. "Thank you."

The woman flashed a broad smile. "You can't worry about guys like that," she assured him, "Most of their brains are in their dicks."

Walter smiled shyly. He was not so good at talking with women. Especially the beautiful kind. And this woman was beautiful.

"Hey, you're Walter Sullivan, right?" she guessed.

"Yes ... "

She flashed a smile. "You know, I'm Mary Stone. If you need anybody to talk to, I'm there."

Walter furrowed his brow. Now what reason should she have to 'be there' for him? It made no sense. Then again, why did the name Mary ring a bell in the back of his head? Could he have known her from somewhere?

Then it hit him.

The little girl at the bus station at South Ashfield. But perhaps it wasn't best to bring that up. After all, what would she think? Would she think him a freak like the rest? Walter was not sure he wanted to ruin a chance at a good friend.

"Thank you ... " he said, softly.

O

Walter watched her that night. Mary Stone.

She was across the men's dorm, window open and happily talking to her friends. She seemed so happy. It was a shame. Walter had not known that kind of happiness. He sighed softly. The girl was kind and she was beautiful. Something he was not known to understand. He was good at reading lips and he could hear her talking to her friends.

She was talking about vacation and leaving to visit her family in South Ashfield.

Huh. That was interesting. Her family was in South Ashfield, just like his mother. Maybe they could go together...

Walter shook his head of those images. No way. She would not want to be with someone like him. He was a freak ... he had an agenda ... an agenda no one agreed with. What made him think this sweet young girl would?

But he could not resist.

Walter glanced toward the garden beside the dorm and smiled.

Mary and her friends turned at a soft knock at the door.

"Hang on, I got it." Mary said, walking to the door and opening it. She looked around. There was no one. Finally, she glanced down and noticed a crudely wrapped object in newspaper at her feet. Mary cocked her head and picked it up.

"What is it, Mary?" one of her friends asked.

Mary shut the door and held out the object to them. "I don't know."

Her friends giggled. "Ooh, maybe it's from a secret admirer!" another said.

Mary gave her a condescending smile before she unwrapped the newspaper and tossed it aside. It was a box; a shoe box. She cocked her head and opened it. Inside was a peculiar collection of what looked to be hand-woven vines. In the center was a small rose. The vines had been twisted and bent in a very creative and beautiful way.

"Wow ... what is that?" her first friend asked, leaning in to look.

"It's nice ... " Mary said, amazed.

Her second friend scoffed. "It's a plant, Mary," she muttered, "It's gonna die soon anyway."

Mary chuckled. "The point is it came from his heart."

Her first friend grinned broadly. "Or _her _heart." she joked.

The three girls erupted into a chorus of laughs. "That's gross!" Mary cried, between fits of laughter.

Walter was standing below the women's dorm, smiling to himself.

O

_Note_-Yes, something bad is gonna happen. You know because whenever Walter's happy, something goes wrong.


	7. Sweet Child of Mine

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"_She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..._"

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Six: Sweet Child of Mine**

_Pleasant River_

Walter found her again.

This time, she was at the Pleasant River book store, but she was alone, which was also good. At least he wouldn't feel so uneasy. Sometimes, when there were others, they complicated things a lot more than what he wanted.

"Hello ... " he greeted.

Mary's head flicked up and she smiled when she saw him. "Hi!" she said, "You like this store too?"

Walter didn't wish to lie to her, but he shook his head. "No. It's my first time in here. I thought I should try something new for a change."

Mary didn't seem all that deterred by the fact that he was stalking her in some way. In fact, she made a simple joke about it.

"Oh yeah?" she teased, "Are you stalking me, or something?"

Walter blinked and faltered somewhat. "No." he lied.

"Hey, I was gonna hit the coffee shop, you wanna join me?" Mary asked, smiling, "My loser friends ditched me to go see a movie. I guess they don't like reading, or something."

The notion was strange to him. Walter had never shared moments with another, except with Bob to play outside or torment little animals. But those had really held no real memories to him anymore. Maybe it would be nice to do something that she offered.

"Okay."

The inhabitants of the coffee shop were staring when they got there. Walter didn't like it when people stared at him. It made him very uneasy. But he did what he could to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He sat down across from Mary while she showed him what books she had gotten.

"I found this book on Gods of the past," she told him, "It was really interesting to learn about cultures that had long since died."

Walter nodded. "Yes, what died in our world lives on in another ... " he replied, with a small smile.

"You think so?" Mary looked impressed.

"Yes."

Mary seemed a little curious now. Did he know more than he let on? Hm. She wanted to know more. "Do you think you can tell me more?" she asked.

Walter's brows rose. Finally, he grinned and nodded. "Okay."

It would have been dangerous for her, but she had done nothing wrong. So why would he hurt her in any way? Walter found he enjoyed her presence. She was sweet and kind. He found that the park was a perfect location to talk. There weren't as many people around to stare at him. So he could relax a little bit.

Mary grinned at him and offered her scarf. He politely shook his head.

"Hey, don't sweat it!" she said, "You look cold!"

Walter reluctantly took the scarf and smiled at her. "Thank you."

Mary chuckled and they watched the setting sun together, lying in the grass. "We should probably be getting back soon ... " she told him, "I have a term paper to write."

Walter shook his head. "Not yet ... " he said, wanting to savor this for as long as possible.

Mary cocked her head. "Are you sure?" she asked, "I hear that a crazy guy's been running around."

Walter's eyes snapped wide at this. Could she have known anything? No. Impossible. If she had known something, she would never have given him any kind of time or day. Never. He relaxed his voice and cocked his head, smiling.

"It's okay, I'll walk you home." he told her.

Mary seemed relieved.

Walter knew there must have been a copycat or something. His murdering the two priests could never have gotten out. If it had, Andrew DeSalvo and the Order would have been compromised as well as his plans. They would never have risked it.

"Okay, let's go." he said.

They walked back to the dorm rooms, talking together and laughing. Walter felt at peace for the first time in his life. For a brief moment, he almost forgot ...

Then, he saw Him. He saw Valtiel watching him from atop of the male dorm. He sounded angry this time. Walter panicked, his heart thumping madly in his chest. He looked at Mary wildly now, terror and delusion visible on his face.

"Walter?" she said, confused, "Are you okay?"

"I - I have to go home ... " he panted, staggering from her, "I ... I have to talk to someone ..."

Mary was worried. He seemed off now. "Walter, what's wrong?" she asked.

He broke from her and took off for his dorm, where Valtiel was waiting. Waiting to talk to him. Walter had been bad? He wasn't sure he had been bad at all. So why had He appeared again? What had he done wrong?

He rushed into the dorm, slamming the door behind him. Valtiel was there, perched on the fridge, obviously indicating the hearts in the jars.

"I - I'm sorry ... " Walter whispered, "I ... I didn't mean to make you angry ... I just ... "

Valtiel pointed at the fridge, a gesture to remind him not to forget.

Walter understood. He glanced outside for a brief moment and finally, he shook his head, small whimpers escaping him. "No. I won't give her to you. No ... " he said, lowly.

Valtiel snarled at him, an eerie collection of hisses and gurgles.

Walter shook his head, pleading. "Please, just for a little while." he begged. Valtiel's snarl increased in tempo and Walter felt a sharp pain at his back. The scars felt like they were on fire, burning his flesh once more. He fell to his knees and held himself, slowly crying.

"No! You're hurting me!" he cried, "No ... she's nice. She's okay. She's not one of them."

Valtiel stood there, crouched and now uttering softer hissing sounds that briefly escaped him. His head twitched wildly.

"Just for a little while ... " Walter pleaded, "Please ... just let me have her for a little while."

O

Walter was wide awake when he heard a knock at his door. He shuddered slightly and blinked, looking toward his door.

"Walter?" It was Mary. She sounded cautious and worried.

He slowly got up and nodded. "It's ... it's open!" he called.

The door slowly opened and Mary stepped inside. When she saw him on the floor in such a heap, she rushed at his side. The motion surprised him a little bit. He did not expect her to be concerned the way she was. He expected ridicule for his odd behavior.

"Are you alright?" she asked, "I was so worried about you. What happened?"

Walter smiled at her. "I'm alright." he assured her. "I promise."

He was alright. His Lord had given him a chance to have her. Just for a little while. Just for a little ... And that was all that mattered to him. He would be allowed to have a good friend, and bring his mother into this world. He was not forced to choose between two. For the moment.

"Are you sure?" Mary asked, "You acted like Casper jumped down your throat, or something. I was-"

Walter held out one hand and shook his head. "It's okay," he promised, "It's fine."

Mary sighed in relief and reached into her bag. She pulled out a container filled with something edible. Walter glanced down at it, surprised. It smelled really good, whatever it was. And he found that he couldn't resist the urge to salivate just a bit.

"You missed Home Cooking," she told him, "So I brought you something."

Walter took the container and nodded. "Thank you." He hesitated before speaking. "You - didn't get in trouble, did you?"

Mary stared at him in disbelief. "Why would I get in trouble?" she asked, "I was checking up on you. No one payed any mind to me."

Walter nodded once and stared down at her offering. He decided to oblige her for her trouble.

"Would you ... like to eat with me?" he asked.

Mary smiled. "Sure!"

Walter fidgeted with his food, fork twirling in what looked to be macaroni. Mary watched him with a frown. She put her fork down and folded her hands together against her chin.

"Okay, what's bothering you?" she asked.

Walter snapped out of his reverie and he shook his head. "Huh? Oh, nothing."

Mary shook her head and scooted her chair to sit beside him. He glanced at her, intimidated by the gesture, but he did not voice it.

"Walter, if you don't talk to somebody, how can anyone help you?" she asked.

Walter chuckled softly. "But you can't ... "

"What if I want to?" Mary countered, gently.

Walter shut his eyes and then, looked at her sadly. "I like you, a lot Mary," he told her, "But I can only see you for a short time before I have to see my mother."

Mary laughed. "Maybe I can see her with you."

"It's not that simple."

Mary frowned, not catching just what Walter was telling her. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't get it," she said, "What's the problem?"

Walter felt at odd terms discussing his problems with a ... "normal" human being. He shook his head and took the leftovers on his plate to the kitchen sink. He placed them down with a slightly loud clanging sound.

"Look, I didn't mean to pry," Mary told him, "If I said anything at all that made you upset, I'm sorry."

Walter gnawed at his lower lip and shook his head. "No ... I'm just ... " he began, "I'm not used to having any friends, that's all. I don't want to say something to scare you away. It'd be a shame if I were to lose a good friend."

Mary softened the slightest and smiled. "Hey, don't sweat it, okay?" she told him.

Walter smiled faintly.

O

Mary was not at class the next day, so Walter assumed she had already gone to see her parents. Ah, he wished he had family like that, but his only goal, his true goal was to focus on his mother and only his mother.

But he began to grow concerned when she missed class for the next week. He wasn't one to worry about others so much, but somewhere, in the pit of his stomach, he sensed something totally wrong with this.

Walter couldn't help it, but he decided to visit her dorm to see if she was there. He knocked on the door and her roommate answered.

"What do you want?" she asked, rather harshly.

Walter ignored that for the moment. "Where is Mary?" he asked her, "I have not heard from her in some time. Is she doing alright?"

The roommate suddenly brightened. "Oh! You must be the guy she's dating!" she said, "She's talked so much about you! Wow, you aren't so bad looking after all!" She sniffed a bit and grimaced slightly. "You just SMELL bad."

Walter shook his head. "Where is she?"

The roommate looked a little worried now. "She's been gone a while," she told him, "I haven't heard from her. Boy, I hope she didn't bail out on us and ditch college to go with her family. That won't be good for her future."

Walter nodded once. "Thank you." he said, "Do you know where I can find her?"

The roommate smiled. "Sure!"

After Walter had gotten directions, he made a trip to South Ashfield. It was dark by the time he arrived and he was passing through the woods to avoid the ... night crawlers. He was never too fond of confrontation.

"I hope she's alright ... " he whispered, softly.

HE was watching Walter, perched on top of a tree. Walter looked up and flinched when he saw him. He swallowed hard. Hopefully, though, Valtiel would not be angry this time and just leave him to find Mary.

"I'm sorry ... I'm ... " he began, "I'm trying to find Mary."

Valtiel was silent.

Walter listened as Valtiel spoke to him. His eyes widened slightly. "Do you know where I may find her?" He paused and grunted, his heart dropping into his insides. "What do you mean I won't be happy when I find her?" He paused again. "Where is she?"

Valtiel pointed toward a silent, ominous shack up ahead. Walter followed his gaze and grunted warily. He felt something cold go through his entire body. He was used to the strange, the horrifying. But something about that shack ...

Valtiel warned him to stay away, but Walter could not.

"Please ... I must see ... " he said, softly.

Oddly, Valtiel was quiet and seemed to grant him permission. Walter walked up toward the shack, noticing no lights on throughout the small house. He paused for a brief moment and suddenly, drew back his leg, kicking the door open with all his might.

The lock snapped and Walter walked inside. He moved between a line of headless mannequins. In one corner rested an old wood-burning stove. Walter halted and his eyes slowly began to widen in his head. Valtiel was so close, he was touching him. Ice cold shot up his back. In his head, he could make out a terrified, feminine scream. He squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with clenched fists, struggling to keep himself calm.

"No ... " he moaned.

Valtiel gestured to the shelves. Walter did as his silent tormentor commanded and opened the doors. He encountered several knives and a meat cleaver hanging on hooks. Walter's hands shook and he took hold of a cleaver. He glanced down and trembled. Tripping slightly, he glanced down and noticed several pools of dried blood on the floor. He felt it. Felt the break coming, felt it slowly taking hold of him and -

- the sound of a door opening caused him to duck out of sight.

A man was walking into the house with a yawn and he shut the door behind him. He didn't see Walter slide by like a dark shadow and carefully, quietly, lock the door. The man turned to the kitchen and switched on the light, not noticing Walter behind him.

When he finally sensed Walter's presence, he spun around, just as soon as the cleaver came down on his arm.

The man screamed in agony and fell to the floor, blood gushing out of his arm. He looked up at Walter in disbelief, whimpering and panting. Walter smiled down at him, coldness and emptiness in his eyes once more.

"If you move, it will only hurt more," he told him, calmly, "So keep still."

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" the man screamed.

Walter smiled broadly. "Who?" he sang, "Who, the murderer asks. Who is killing me? Who?" He chuckled quietly. "Who is killing you, sir? Who is killing you?" He raised the cleaver and brought it down on the man's skull.

Blood poured from the wounds and Walter continued to bring the cleaver down, slicing, crunching and tearing into bone and brain matter. He stopped after several swings and exhaled quietly before he went to the stove.

He opened it, reached inside and pulled out a charred scarf that had once belonged to Mary. He delicately wrapped it around his own neck and walked out of the house. It had gotten colder, but Walter barely noticed the change in weather.

"Yes ... master ... " he said, softly, "I will never ... never again ... "

_(The Darkness That Lurks In Our Mind-Akira Yamaoka)_

"Come on, Jasper!" Bobby called, "Don't be such a pussy!"

Jasper, Sein, and Bobby were climbing up the path in the woods, hoping to find the Order or perhaps something regarding it. Jasper was reluctant to partake, no matter what his curiosity wanted him to do. He watched as they walked up the hills.

"G - Guys ... " he protested, "I - I got a b - bad feeling ... "

The two were out of earshot by now and they stopped at the top of the hill. There was Walter, standing coldly and quietly. Behind him, unseen by the two was Valtiel, holding onto Walter like a disturbing parasite.

"You ... " Bobby gasped.

Walter leaned his head back and smiled. "So ... you came to find the devil, have you?" he asked.

Bobby grinned. "Hey, the devil's your friend?" he said, "Did you come here to find him too?"

Walter shook his head. "No. He is not my friend." He looked down and spotted Jasper, even though the young man could not very well see him. "Jasper!" he called, "I know you are down there. Do you not want to meet me?"

Jasper shook like a frightened child, terrified.

"G - Guys!" he called, "Something's n-not right!"

Sein laughed. "Jasper, you're such a - "

A swift blow to the head knocked the poor boy to the ground. He blinked through a red haze of pain and wailed in agony. Before Bobby could think next, a blow knocked him to the ground as well. He hit the dirt, hard.

Walter smiled down at them, holding two steel pipes in hand. Before Sein could crawl away, he stabbed one of the pipes in his leg, pinning him to the ground.

Jasper's eyes grew wide at the sounds of their screams.

"HEEEELLLPP!" they screamed, "HELP US!"

Jasper could only stare for a few long moments before he turned and ran into town, leaving the two to die at the hands of this maniac.

Walter watched Sein's writhing and screaming for a few moments more before he turned to Bobby and smiled. He bent down to him and held the pipe beneath his bleeding, tattered chin, lifting his face for study.

"Sweet Jesus ... " Bobby groaned.

Walter furrowed his brow. Bobby could tell, by looking into his eyes that he was no where in there.

"What's wrong?" Walter asked, softly, "Isn't this what you wanted?" He watched the man whimper and shake his head. "Hm, such a shame. It all changes when something goes wrong, doesn't it? Well, your heart belongs to me, now."

Before Bobby could ask what he meant, Walter wrapped both hands around his throat and began to strangle him. He looked into the eyes of this man, watching the life fade away. Sein could only watch the scene with terror and anguish. He screamed when Walter began to remove Bobby's heart from his chest.

Once Walter took care of that, he turned to Sein with a pleasant smile on his blood-speckled face.

"Your next." he said.

Sein could do nothing but scream until it was silenced abruptly by Walter's powerful hands.

Walter watched as the two bodies drifted silently into the water. He stood like a dark specter in the moonlit night, glancing down at the two hearts in his hands. Now it was time. Time to cease this foolishness and get back to what was important.

His Mother.

O

_Note_-Creeeeeeepy.


	8. Pets and Golf Clubs

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"_She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..._"

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Seven: Pets and Golf Clubs**

_Pleasant River_

Walter could hear the sounds of animals barking loudly as he passed the store. The sounds were irritating, loud and obnoxious. How could anyone tolerate such noises? Walter hated animals every day of his life. They had tried to hurt him on a trip to see his mother one day and he had easily taken care of it. It had been a small dog and one that was still barking even as he had slit its throat.

"Garland's Pets" was owned by Steve Garland, a man who appreciated little creatures but not his own kind. That was a shame. A sad shame. Walter would take care of him at his master's wishes.

And speak of the devil, Steve walked out of the store to collect his mail in a slot beside the door, grumbling angry curses to himself. Walter bumped his shoulder into him and he growled angrily.

"Watch it, you dust head!" he spat.

Walter gave him a smile. "I'm so sorry." he told him.

Steve glared at him once more before he walked back into the store. Walter just chuckled to himself and walked into a weapon's shot, walking around and observing the rows upon rows of weapons. Oh this wouldn't do at all. He knew he'd have to wait to get these expensive things and he certainly couldn't do any waiting.

_Meanwhile_

Joseph Schreiber was sitting at his desk at his office, pondering the events that had transpired at Wish House so many years in the past. He had recently heard of the murders of the two men and knew that somehow, it wasn't over.

"Joseph?"

He looked up in time to see the secretary, Anne Kane walk up to him with newspapers and various papers in her hands. She placed them onto his desk and picked one up to read it out loud.

"We the undersigned tenants of South Ashfield Heights ... " She stopped reading to look at him. "What is all this stuff? Why do you need it?"

Joseph looked up at her. "I have to check out Wish House," he explained, "I think there's something connected with these murders. I have to figure it out for the paper."

Anne laughed softly and shook her head, a little surprised by his attitude about it. "Joseph, you're not a cop or anything," she said, "Why do you want to get yourself into trouble?"

"Something's going on over there, Anne," Joseph told her, "And I'm going to find out."

Walter took the sub - machine gun from the obscured man, smiling with pleasure. The man was a smuggler of fine weapons and drugs and Walter had just happened to have found him on the bad side of town.

"What do you want for it?" Walter asked.

The man furrowed his brow. "Hell. What do you have on you?"

Walter reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of money that he had simply stuffed into his coat. He had gotten a part time job in South Ashfield, but really didn't live anywhere. He came and went when he chose.

"I have ... " Walter counted. "400 dollars and this." He held up a small hand knife that was gleaming with false gold and symbols. He had another knife, but this one he had taken from a thug in the subway. It was far to arrogant for his tastes.

The man smiled slightly, taking the weapon. "I think we can work something out."

Walter smiled as the man handed him his gun. He chuckled softly to himself. Now he would have what he needed. It was perfect. A perfect opportunity for the next heart.

"Thank you." Walter replied, turning to go.

The man titled his head. "Hang on." Walter stopped. "What's this weapon gonna be for?" He grunted slightly, wavering at Walter glancing back at him from the corner of his eye. "I mean, if you got a beef with someone, I don't wanna be a part of it, ya' know."

Walter continued to stare at him, his gaze slightly widened and more than a little threatening. The man chuckled nervously and held out two hands, backing away slowly.

"N - Never mind ... " he stammered, turning and taking off.

Walter watched him go before he looked up and noticed Valtiel scaling down a wall. His head twitched and a low moan escaped him. Walter smiled up at him and nodded.

"Yes, master, I know," he replied, "We don't have to wait. It will be tonight."

Valtiel gestured out with one gloved hand and Walter could hear police sirens coming around the corner. He tucked himself against the walls as a cruiser passed by the alley.

"Master ... they suspect something ... " he said, softly, "I am sure of it. They will try to stop me." A brief pause and Valtiel hissed lowly, beating one fist against the wall. Walter smiled at Valtiel's words and nodded. "And I will. I will kill whoever stops me."

O

Steve grumbled lowly, watching several people pass his shop at the end of the night. He was glad, too. Now he could lock up, go home and get some sleep. But before he could do that, there came a knock at the front door. Steve grumbled and looked over, noticing Walter standing there. He cupped his mouth and shouted out to him.

"Hey! Piss off, asshole!" he shouted, "We're closed!"

Walter knocked on the door again.

Steve grumbled angrily and grabbed a baseball bat from the side of the counter, storming up to the door and ready to lay one out on this trouble-maker. But just as he raised the bat, the glass of the front door shattered, sending Steve staggering back, instinctively covering his face with both arms.

"Steve?" Walter crooned, "Stevie - boy!"

Steve lowered his arms and grunted warily at the threatening man in the doorway. Walter took a step into the shop and held out the sub-machine gun, pointing it directly at the man.

"What do you want?" Steve gasped.

Walter smirked wickedly at him; Valtiel was now standing behind him and coiling his arms around his shoulders. "Your heart."

Before Steve could even scream, Walter opened fire on him, sending bullet after bullet tearing into his stomach, head, arms and legs. He took care in leaving his chest undamaged so that his heart would remain intact.

Walter watched coldly as Steve's smoking, tattered body collapsed to the floor. Finally, he took out his tools and began to work on removing the man's heart. Around him, dogs were barking wildly and cats were shrieking, possibly at the sight of Valtiel that only animals could see.

Walter held the hot, wet organ, dripping in the palm of his hand before his lips tightened at the loud noise of the animals. He glared at them through the corner of his eye.

"Shut up ... "

The noise persisted.

"Shut up."

It continued on and on until Walter couldn't take it any longer.

"_SHUT UP!_" he screamed.

He rose and held out the machine gun to the cages of animals, pumping round after round, sweeping the entire store in a death shower of lead and smoke. After what seemed like forever, he stopped long enough to catch his breath in deep, heavy intervals. The cages that had once held living animals were now filled with shredded fur and meat. Blood dripped ominously from the cages.

Finally, Walter began to wrap the heart up into a plastic bag until he could perform the "proper" ritual for later, once he had obtained all ten hearts. He was getting close to his objective.

Considering the time of day, Walter knew that he still had enough time to gather up his ... next heart.

O

Rick Albert smiled as he quickly fitted two golf clubs into their proper spot.

He was a nice, middle - aged man who considered most of his actions in business to be fair and just. He cocked his head as Walter walked into the shop, head hung and concealing his face behind his hair.

"Walter, glad you're here," he said, "Mel was sick today, so I was wondering if you could cover his two hours. It's not much, but I can pay you time and a half for it."

Walter was silent for a moment before he nodded. "Of course."

Rick smiled at the response. "Great!" he said, turning. He didn't see Walter reach for one of the golf clubs in their carrying bag. "I know it's short notice, but I'm glad you're covering for Mel. Poor guy's sick something fierce."

Walter slowly crept up behind him, keeping the club concealed. He spoke calmly, darkly. "Mel is sick?" he murmured, "Were there voices in the background when you spoke to him?"

Rick chuckled, moving behind the register. "Oh now, Walter," he scolded, gently, "Mel's not like that. We've talked about this. He does not get away with murder and I don't pay him more than you."

Walter cocked his head. "Murder?" he crooned, "He doesn't get away with murder ... Not like I do."

"What's that?" Rick asked, glancing back at him.

Walter swung the club and cracked Rick across the face with it. The force sent the stunned man scattering across the counter top. Just as he attempted to regain his senses, Walter smacked him in the face again and he fell to the floor with a sharp cry of pain.

"W - Walter?" Rick cried, "What ... !"

Walter calmly bent down to him and leveled the golf club beneath his chin, lifting it so he could study the blood dripping menacingly down his nose and forehead. He watched Rick with a cold sneer.

"Your sin...Would you like to know what it is?" Walter asked, smiling.

Rick sputtered blood from his lips. "Wh ... Why are you doi ... " he tried.

Walter chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I am the Conjurer, Rick Albert," he told him, "The pathway, the guardian of the God who will blanket this earth in darkness. I am Her left hand. I am Her temple. You are privy to a great becoming, but you recognize nothing. To me, you are a slug in the sun. You are an ant in the afterbirth. Before me, you rightly tremble. You live a lie inside your own mind, Rick. A lie. You play people the way you play sports. But the truth is, only you are the winner, right?"

Rick groaned weakly and shook his head. "No ... No I ... " he moaned.

"Yes." Walter said, his blue eyes flickering in a manner that was considered unholy. "I'm sorry to say that you are a sinner. But I am pleased to inform you that you will become part of Her return."

He raised the club over his head and brought it down onto Rick again and again until the only sounds filling the air were the wet, sticky sounds of the club striking bloody flesh.

_Meanwhile_

Steve Garland's corpse was carried away on a stretcher while two investigators were observing the gory scene inside the shop. Joseph was standing amid the crowd, frowning. He seemed completely bothered by something.

"Who was this sack of shit?" the first one asked.

His friend previewed notes through his small pad. "His name was Steve Garland," he said, "I think you can rule out accidental death."

"Did ol' Garland have any enemies?"

"No. He never hung out with people," the second man replied, "Didn't like 'em too much. You know, this could be a turf hit, but it doesn't look like your usual gang crap."

The first man's phone suddenly rang and he reached into his pocket to take it out and answer it. "Hello?" A brief pause. "What? Hang on! Wait right there! I'm on my way!"

"Who was that?" his friend asked.

"Seems he struck again right after this guy," the first man snapped, stepping over several overturned boxes of cat food, "Shit. He's working fast. Who knows who's gonna be next!"

Meanwhile, Walter was standing outside of a house where two little children were playing by the window. He tilted his head as he watched them, a wicked smile slithering across his lips.

O

_Note_-Uh oh...


	9. God Bless the Little Children

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"_She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..._"

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Eight: God Bless the Little Children**

_Pleasant River_

The sounds of children laughing was almost a pleasant sound to Walter's ears. However, what he had to do next was something horrific and he had to think twice about. Children ... they were not evildoers. His master had suggested that he take the life of one of them. But how could he kill little things who had done no real wrong to him or anyone else? Children were not criminals. It would become difficult for him to pull such an thing off, but his master knew that this was the only way to awaken his mother, so he would have to do it.

He would have to.

Walter was perched on the roof of an old abandoned building and listening to the sounds of sirens in the distance. There were police officers issuing a curfew due to the "killer" that was on the loose. He smiled inwardly. Did they think that people would obey such a rule? Walter knew that there would be those who would stay out late simply because they could. He could rely on that fact and act on it to his advantage.

"Master ... "

The sound of Valtiel's moans filled the air and Walter glanced to the side. Valtiel was perched ominously over a telephone pole, head shuddering and fingers gesturing to Silent Hill across the river. Walter flinched at the silent command and nodded.

"But why the children?" he asked, sorrowfully, "They have done no wrong. How can they bring Her into this world with such clean souls?"

Valtiel was oddly quiet for a moment before Walter felt a peculiar whisper in his head of his master's voice. His master was not angry with his question this time. This was unusual.

"I see ... " Walter whispered, listening to his words, "I understand ... "

He slowly stood up and focused his attention on the town of Silent Hill across the river. He would do it. His master had told him who to kill so far and every single one of them had been worth while. And his master was right about one thing.

No one was truly innocent.

O

Walter had been right after all.

There were people outside later that night through Silent Hill's streets. They were laughing and carrying on like the entire business of murder was a joke to them. He could see Valtiel in every corner of the street, listening to the words of his master.

"I know ... they are fools ... " Walter whispered, softly, "Fools for not listening to reason."

The real question remained ... who would it be? Which child did his master want him to kill? Walter was not too enthusiastic about murdering a child, not in the slightest. In fact, he didn't want this for any reason, but his mother ... He wanted to be with her no matter what. If this was what it took to bring her back, then he would do it for Her.

"Miriam, wait!"

The sound halted Walter in his spot. He quickly ducked out of sight while he noticed two children; a boy and a girl, dart passed him toward the lakeside. From the way they talked to one another, Walter knew that they were probably siblings or related in some way.

"Miriam, did you find it yet?" the boy asked, smiling.

"No, Billy, not yet."

Miriam and Billy Locane. Walter noticed the house where they had come out of and spotted the family name on their mailbox. The Locane's. His master immediately told him that these were the children. Both of them were to die this night. Both ...

So he waited and waited all night for the right time. The children were obviously waiting for something as well. He had never seen any form of devotion in this hour of the night. What was it that was obviously so important for them to see? And then, it hit him. The moon. A bright full moon as rising high into the sky, casting a rather beautiful, glistening shine across the small pond nearest their home. Strange flickers of light appeared all around them, light from fireflies. Walter had to admit, it was a pleasant sight.

"It's so beautiful, isn't it, Billy?" Miriam said, happily.

"Let's catch some!" Billy exclaimed, excitedly.

Walter watched as the children took off through the small field, splashing aimlessly through the creek. They were really going to make this too easy for him. But there were two, which meant that he'd have to take care of them both quickly and efficiently. His eyes landed on a wood axe buried inside a tree stump in another yard and he smiled.

That would do nicely.

"Miriam, we should get back." Billy advised, "Mom's gonna figure out that we're not in bed again and we're gonna get into trouble."

Miriam was lying on her back in the tall grass and she laughed softly, cradling a jar of flickering fireflies in one hand. He was right, after all. It wouldn't be a good idea to stay out for too long. Miriam loved the night and all that came with it. She really didn't consider the dangers of the night as a child often did and yet her brother did.

"Okay, let's go home." she said.

Billy was already way ahead of her. He crept through the grass and froze at the sound of rustling. Miriam had done the same. The two children looked around the darkened pasture to seek out the source of the sound.

"Did you hear that?" Billy asked.

Miriam grunted and cast her small eyes around the field. She spotted a darkened shape standing there, eyes flickering with an inhuman red before she gave a sharp cry and gestured to her brother.

"Billy, maybe we should go!" she whispered, fiercely.

Billy nodded and the two children rushed for their home. They had almost made it until Walter's axe swung from behind a bush and -

Miriam froze in her spot and her eyes widened. She would have screamed had it not locked up into her tiny throat. The sight of her brother's lifeless form hitting the floor and the crimson blood pooling around the man's feet kept her locked there in terror. He towered over her, the dripping axe clenched tightly in his hands. He waited before he spoke.

"You should have obeyed your mother, little girl," Walter sneered, in his cold, pitiless voice once more.

Miriam whimpered in horror, eyes landing at her brother's lifeless body. "B - Billy?" she stammered.

Walter raised a single brow. "I don't think that little Billy is going to be screaming any time soon." He bent down and picked up something, holding it out to her. Billy's decapitated head. It dripped with fresh, warm blood and his mouth was locked open in an eternal scream.

Miriam let out a scream and as soon as it barely left her lips, Walter's axe cut through the air.

The next morning, Mrs. Locane stepped outside with a hot cup of coffee and in her robe and slippers. She was smiling, half awake. Her eyes wandered around the front yard. Finally, she caught something and the smile dropped from her mouth like a lead weight. The cup in her hand tilted and spilled coffee onto the porch before it slid from her hands and crashed into a million porcelain pieces.

A scream escaped her, a scream that was so loud and thunderous, it carried through the town like a powerful sonic boom, waking every individual of their homes and rousing even the police in a cruiser parked in the alley way.

Mrs. Locane's hands went to her mouth and fresh tears poured from her eyes. She could barely stand and stumbled onto her rump, shrieking and screaming in despair like a thing possessed. The neighbors were rushing to her yard to see what was wrong. What they saw made them gasp in horror and disgust.

" - Oh my God!"

" - Mrs. Locane, what the hell happened?"

" - Oh Shit!"

O

The police cruiser pulled up in front of the Locane home and the two officers rushed out. As soon as they saw what had caused Mrs. Locane such distress, they recoiled in shock.

"Holy Shit!" one of them gasped, "Call it in!"

Shortly afterwards, the Locane front yard was covered with police officers, private investigators, and several journalists analyzing the bodies of Miriam and Billy Locane on the front lawn. Joseph Schreiber was standing over an analyst and he held a clipboard in hand.

"Where's the mother?" he asked, gravely.

"Inside," the man replied, "She hasn't calmed down since. There's five officers trying to keep her inside without hurting anyone. I've never seen a mother go on such a rampage in my entire life..."

Inside, Joseph could hear the sound of glass breaking and he sighed, preparing for the worst. He walked into the house and noticed that two officers had Mrs. Locane pinned into a chair. The five officers stared at him skeptically as he entered.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them snapped, presumably the one who had called it in.

"Joseph Schreiber," the writer replied, "I'm a journalist and private investigator working on this case. I'm here to speak with the Locane mother."

Mrs. Locane's face was drenched with sweat and tears. She nodded and Joseph stepped over across the living room to speak with her. He tripped over a small kids oven and she smiled sorrowfully.

"Sorry. That was Miriam's," she whispered, "She loved baking cookies. She and her brother were so close ... " She bit her lip and she struggled to contain her tears again.

Joseph bent down in front of her and nodded to the other officers, indicating that he had things under perfect control here. They took that hint and walked outside to continue with their work while he spoke to her.

"Mrs. Locane," Joseph began, "What can I call you?"

"Annabelle ... "

Joseph smiled gently, attempting to be comforting in her time of pain. "Annabelle, did you hear anything that might have indicated that your children left your home in the middle of the night?"

She shook her head. "No. I was asleep. I thought that they were sleeping as well ... " she moaned, "I checked in on them before I went to bed. All of the doors and windows were locked tight. I didn't hear ... "

Joseph furrowed his brow. "Annabelle, listen, we have very little lead on who did this," he continued, "All we have is a photo of this man," He removed a small photo of what looked like Walter Sullivan in the crowd, "who may have been a suspect during a missing girl case at Pleasant River. Have you seen this man at all in the town?"

Annabelle shook her head and wiped her eyes with one hand. "No ... "

Joseph sighed heavily. "Then we're back to square one ... " He rose and started to go, but Annabelle stopped him.

"If you find him, please ... " she begged, in a bitter, dark voice, "Let me know. I want to see his face before he's put behind bars for the rest of his life!"

Joseph blinked in surprise, a little chilled by her cold voice. But he could perfectly understand it. She was a mother who had lost all of her life all in one night and was grieving because she blamed herself for it. There was no reason why she WOULDN'T be upset.

"I understand ... "

_Meanwhile_

The warehouse was empty. There was no one around for miles and the only sound that could be heard from inside was a low banging sound that echoed inside the darkened warehouse. Valtiel was scaling down the walls and perched onto a pipe where there was a TV playing the news of the Locane murders. Walter as in the corner banging his head repeatedly onto the metal, moaning and groaning over and over again.

Finally, once it was out of his system, his face smeared into the cold steel and low sobbing sounds echoed out of him. He stopped crying long enough to scream horrendously to the silence of his master.

O

_Note_-I can't help but think that this is a very twisted title considering the chapter's contents... I honestly did not want to write the murder of the two children because even though it was Silent Hill, I find any murdering of children in games and films to be in very bad taste, despite the cruel reality of the possibilities of anything like it happening. But...more or less, I wanted to have every murder written of his past and Walter's sadistic tendencies.


	10. Tell Tale Heart

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"_She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..._"

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Nine: Tell Tale Heart**

_South Ashfield_

"Goddamn … look at this sack of shit … "

Several detectives stood over a blood - stained corpse littered across the alley, the body of a homeless man who looked to have been riddled with bullet marks. Joseph arrived at the scene, studying the corpse before he met the gazes of the detectives.

They were detective Torch and Detective Scotts.

Hannibal Torch was a large, heavyset American-born Irish fellow who did most of his talking with his fists and colorful vocabulary. He had been on the force for many years, seen a lot of messed up shit and even took a few lives in the process.

Larry "Lucky" Scotts was an exact counterpart to him. He was slender and wore a funny pair of glasses too big for his face. He had only been on the force for a few months. The guys nicknamed him Lucky because of his first day getting into a fight with a gang member and ending up shot in the chest. He was fortunate to survive.

"Mason…"

The two detectives looked over to Joseph as he studied the dead man with dismay. "You knew this bum?" Torch asked.

Joseph nodded his head. "Yeah. He was a pretty good friend," he replied, sadness in his voice, "He didn't hurt anybody and he never wanted to. I just don't understand who would want to do this."

Torch picked up a box of donuts lying on the end of the squad car and began to take a bite of one. Joseph looked up at him with disgust.

"Sir, I don't think the CSU … is going to appreciate you sprinkling doughnut crumbs onto the deceased." he protested.

Torch stared at his donuts for a brief moment before Scotts plucked it from his hand and placed it back into the box. Torch gave a heavy sigh and looked up toward the sun as it slowly began to rise. It was too early in the morning to deal with a murder right now.

"Christ …I hate early morning. There's nothing human up at this hour," he muttered, "I need a goddamn coffee … "

Scotts nodded his head in agreement and slowly took photos of the dead bum lying there. "The chief is gonna need serious drugs when he finds out," he pointed out, "That's three this month. We got no leads on the killer and…"

Joseph looked up. "I may have an idea."

The two detectives looked at him incredulously. "You do?" Torch demanded, "Bullshit!" He shrugged his shoulders. "Come on! We've got no leads, no evidence, nothing! How can a no - name reporter figure this out when we can't?"

Scotts smiled and shook his head. "Well, he's actually been a journalist with the Washington Post. Same as the one at the alley far end," he argued, "Except Schreiber won a Pulitzer for his investigative piece ... on the congressional scandal three years ago."

Torch scoffed mockingly. "Hey, if it ain't on ESPN, then I couldn't give a shit." he snapped.

A man in a lab coat walked up to the three, carrying a folder in his hands. It was obviously the forensic files of the dead man. "No I.D just yet," he announced, "His prints came up nil. He was probably just an alley mushroom that popped up at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Torch frowned thoughtfully before he turned to Scotts. "Find me a connection between all these toe tags," he ordered. Then, he plucked out another doughnut from the box and turned it around. "But first; find me something with chocolate sprinkles."

Joseph shook his head. Things were only going to get worse before they got any better.

O

Walter smiled as he studied the flock of pigeons in the park that morning. A few had begun to perch on his shoulders. He was thinking, tuning all sound and activity out of the world around him. Several people passing by whispered to one another and Walter knew very well that they were not kind words.

He studied a strange object in his hands, a pocket watch with the glass that had been cracked down the middle. The hands had stopped and the metal of the small door was covered in red rust.

"Poor thing…" Walter whispered, to himself, "Poor little thing." With that, he rose; startling the birds from his body and he started walking into the town.

It was a busy morning; many people going to work and school. Walter observed every single one, trying to uncover what he came here for. Valtiel was moving rapidly across the rooftops and signs, whispering and chattering to Walter in a voice only he could hear.

"Right here … " Walter murmured, stopping in front of the Watch & Clock shop. He studied the sign that read "OWNER: WILLIAM GREGORY" for a moment before he stepped inside.

There was an elderly man bent over the glass counter, studying a small collection of gears through a tiny eye lens. He looked up at the sight of Walter towering over him and smiled cheerfully.

"Well, hello there, big fella!" he said, "How's the weather up there?" He laughed at his own ancient joke and placed the collection of gears aside. "So, what can I do you for today?"

Walter placed the watch onto the counter top and William slowly reached out for it. His aged, bony fingers stroked the rust and chain before he tilted his head back with a thoughtful frown. He had never seen a watch in this bad shape before. Then again, he also never had a strange feeling shoot up his back from touching a watch before either.

There was something strange about it, something he couldn't describe. Behind him, Valtiel was standing, whispering to Walter peculiar things and William acted as if he didn't even see him at all. When he looked up at Walter, the man was staring down at him with a strange look, eyes burning almost like a red glow in the shadows of the shop.

"It will take some time, sir," William told him, "But I should have it ready by tomorrow."

Walter smiled and it was very unpleasant. "Thank you."

He turned and walked out of the shop without another word. William exhaled, his body shuddering in unease. The chill of the strange man lingered in the air even after he had long gone.

_Dream_

It was a strange dream.

William was standing in a darkened room, surrounded by various human-sized mirrors that seemed to reflect images of reminiscences. The sounds of a cat mewling filled his ears. A tower of billiard balls began to tumble toward him and he screamed, shielding his face from them. But nothing happened. William opened his eyes again and discovered himself in a dark, grey room.

Only everything was upside down. Chairs and desks hung from the ceiling and even a door with a ticking clock suspended from it. William watched the clock with confusion, watched as the hands and ticking sound began to slow down.

Within the face of the clock was a beating heart, blood gushing from the ruptured veins. William staggered back in horror and held his own chest, which - to add further terror to himself - was opened and missing his heart.

With a scream, William jolted out of sleep. He was lying in bed in a room just over his shop. His heart still raced and his body was slick with sweat. Christ, he was too old to be having dreams like that. His heart was going to cave in on him one of these days. He shut his eyes and began to sleep once more.

O

Walter stepped into the shop that night, watching as his master led him toward the back room. There was a sign there that read DO NOT ENTER and Walter took little heed to it. He drew back his leg and kicked the door clean off of its hinges. The sound jolted William from his attempted slumber and he rose out of bed.

While down in the work room, Walter began to notice several newspaper clippings and articles of clothing hanging on the walls. The articles were titled with "Billy Beldam - Rapist on the Run!" and "Child Molester Escapes Police Again". The list went on and on forever until Walter could stand no more.

Valtiel wrapped his long, shadowy arms around him and uttered peculiar hissing sounds that almost sounded like laughter.

Meanwhile, William was walking cautiously down the stairs of his apartment into the shop, baseball bat in hand. He carefully turned a corner and peered over a row of shelves to the open door of his work room.

"Dammit … you're gonna regret that … !" he vowed, "come into my store … break in and snoop around where you shouldn't…"

William entered the work room, eyes wandering around to see if he could spot anyone there.

"Where are you, you little rat?" he whispered, angrily, "Come out so I can give you a little token of my hospitality!"

Behind him, the door began to creak shut and it was Walter pushing it, standing behind the door with a wicked smile on his face.

William spun around with the bat, glaring at the man. "What the hell are you doing in here?" he shouted, "I'm going to call the police!" He rushed for the corded phone on the wall and picked up the receiver, only to notice the cord cut.

He looked up and noticed Walter uttering a few tsk sounds, swinging a pain of scissors on a loop around his finger and a grin on his face. William stared at him with shock as Walter tossed the scissors aside.

"Billy … that wouldn't be a good idea now would it?" Walter crooned, "They'll surely see your little … toyshop, won't they? They'll find you and you'll become a corpse for the little birdies. Women, children and men will spit on your grave when they find out what you have hidden from the world."

William faltered and then, he smiled. "What are you talking about?"

Walter slowly advanced while William began to back away. "Touchy, touchy you are you dirty little man," he hissed, in a dark voice, "Maybe I ought to cut off your hands and shove them into your ass."

William swung the bat through the air, which Walter grabbed at that exact moment. William watched him with horror as he twisted the end of the bat, wrenching it from his hands. He sent it scattering across the floor.

"What are you gonna do then, huh?" William snarled, "What the hell are you gonna do? Are you gonna rape me or something then? Get me back? Are you one of those kids dying for a piece of vengeance?"

Walter grinned wickedly and grasped a screwdriver on the counter top. "No. I'm your worse nightmare."

O

The sound of sirens shattered the silent tranquility of South Ashfield. Scotts, Torch and Joseph were all scrammed in one car, turning lane after lane without even considering the lights.

"Shit, guy went down!" Torch spat, spewing some of his doughnut crumbs all over his shirt and jacket, "We're gonna catch this asshole before he hits another one!"

Joseph shook his head, gazing out the windows for signs of anything that might have been considered abnormal. The car stopped in front of the watch shop and the three immediately poured out.

"Go around back, Scotts," Torch ordered, pistol at the ready, "Holler if the asshole tries to get passed you and put one in his leg if he tries to run."

Scotts nodded. "You got it." He loaded his weapon and rushed behind the alley.

Joseph and Torch carefully crept into the building. "Stay by me," Torch ordered, "I don't wanna have to call the medics for your ass too."

"You don't have to worry about me," Joseph said, softly.

The two men slowly walked around the shop, looking for signs of anything strange or anyone inside. Torch noticed the open work room and walked inside. He lowered his gun and his eyes grew wide in horror.

"Sweet God almighty!" he gasped.

Joseph walked inside to see for himself and he too uttered a gasp of horror. "Oh my God!"

William's mutilated body had been strung up with rope and staples, a gaping hole in his chest where his heart was missing. There was a note stapled into his chest and his mouth and eyes wide open in an eternal look of horror.

The note was hastily written in red ink and read: "He raped girls and boys and now I raped him with their toys."

Torch slowly brought a walkie - talkie to his lips and spoke, his voice haunted. "S - Scotts. I'm gonna need that medic after all … "

O

_Note_-Took soooooooo long to update. I had other stories to do, but I didn't wanna put this one off. Not by a long shot!


	11. Dead Man's Birthday

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer:** I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

_"She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..."_

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Ten: Dead Man's Birthday**

_South Ashfield_

Walter had no idea how long he had been asleep, or even more, where.

It had been a long, endless week dodging police and many others. Valtiel had cleverly helped him elude most of humanity during the day, but when night fell, Walter had to go about it himself. Valtiel saw no need when most humans were asleep at such hours. Walter didn't mind it too much. Sometimes, the silence was better for him anyway; it allowed for him to collect his thoughts on the next victim for Mother's birth.

Today seemed particularly different, though. When he woke, he was in the subway, lying on a bench. Not very many people were there too, so it must have been nightfall or close to it. He was getting hungry too.

Walter stood up and cracked his neck, gathering his sleeping bag and pillow into a large duffel bag before he slung it over his shoulder and walked up a flight of stairs. But he stopped at the sight of Torch and Scotts standing at the very top, discussing the murderer and the events that Walter had transpired the past two months. He contemplated going the long way around, but that would seem too suspicious so he calmly walked up where they stood, pretending like nothing was wrong.

" ... Look, the bastard's in this town and I'm going to find him!" Torch spat, not noticing Walter just yet, "I swear to Christ, this asshole's going to know what the devil is when I get through with him!" And then, almost unexpectedly, Torch looked straight at Walter. "Hey! Move it along dust head! Go sleep it off somewhere else!"

Walter smiled and pretended to look absolutely pathetic. "Sorry, sir ... "

As he started to go, he could hear Torch cursing at Scott's about the situation some more and even so, about him. "Goddamn creatures of the night, they never learn ... "

Walter was glad to be out of their way for now. In the meantime, he began to search around the streets for open restaurants to get something to eat. He stopped at a Chinese shop and ordered some takeout. Being on a limited budget was hard for him, but he knew how to spend wisely.

When he took his box of rice and chow - mien to the park, Valtiel was staying at an unusual distance today. Walter didn't bother questioning him either as he used two fingers to shovel the noodles and rice into his mouth. He did not notice a man watching him from across the street with a weird, thoughtful look on his face. It suggested that he was looking for trouble or knew who Walter was. Maybe even both. He walked over to where Walter sat and suddenly shoved him to the grass with a shout.

"I KNEW it was you, you sick freak!" the man shouted. "You're FUCKING DEAD!"

Walter tasted dirt and grass and he spat them from his lips, scrambling to turn and face his attacker. The man did the job for him, grabbing Walter by the throat and rolling him onto his back. It was a man he had never seen before, but the eyes and the facial structure. The resemblance. It was uncanny.

Miriam and Billy Locane's father.

His eyes burned with anguish and despair all at once of a father who had lost his spawn, a vengeful parental figure with no thoughts other than revenge and death. Those darkened eyes...they were flaring bonfires of near madness. "I saw you running off last night, fucker!" he screamed, delivering a right hook to Walter's nose, stamping out his next words, "You killed my children! You. Piece. Of. Fucking. SHIT!"

Walter's head rang with pain and he tasted blood flowing down his mouth and chin. He knew that his nose was possibly broken in the barrage of fists. Where was his master? Why was he letting him suffer like this? Was it a means to teach him something that he had yet to learn? Maybe there was something to be had for the vengeful. Suddenly, just as those thoughts left him, he could feel the icy cold embrace of Valtiel's arms reaching into his darkest of darks ...

His soul.

The Locane man was stunned as Walter started laughing wildly. He snarled and shook him by the throat. "What the hell are you laughing at?" he shouted, "Stop laughing! I SAID STOP FUCKING LAUGHING!"

Walter grabbed his upper jaw and with surprisingly sudden strength, began to pry the Locane father from him, standing up. "When it comes to pain, my friend," he whispered, "It's best to give than to receive." He removed a knife from his coat pocket.

The Locane man's eyes widened in shock and he swung up his fist, punching Walter in the face over and over again to free himself, but the psychotic man would not budge, he just continued to grin as he was buffeted by the blows. The whimpering man wasn't too sure what he was dealing with right now, but when he looked up, that was when he saw Valtiel, looming over Walter's shadow. No, he WAS Walter's shadow.

The Locane father's eyes grew wide and he uttered a scream, but Walter's hand came down with the knife, directly into his skull. With a shuddering sigh, Walter plunged the knife into his head over and over, blood gushing and splattering his coat. Walter stared at the dead man that slumped into the grass before his lips tightened with a fury only akin to pure evil. With a snarl, he began to stab the man again and again into his bloodied flesh, despite that he was already dead.

"Freak? Freak? Who's the freak?" he hissed, his voice high and insane, "Who's the dead freak now?"

After a moment of venting his fury, Walter stopped long enough to tilt his head to one side and study the bloody carcass at his feet. "Tch. Aww ... look at you ... What a mess ... " He straightened up and walked away, leaving the dead man in a pool of his own guts and blood.

Much later, Torch and Scotts were investigating the dead body of the fallen Locane man with several forensic scientists going to work gathering fingerprints and evidence. It had taken them nearly four hours before they finally discovered the dead body. It was an embarrassing moment for them all.

"I don't believe this," Torch growled, staring at the covered body, "This guy's been cutting out hearts and killin' folks in a circle and now all of a sudden, be breaks this shit out on us?" He shook his head angrily. "What the hell went on?"

Joseph was bent down beside the body and he stood up. "Well, perhaps this wasn't a planned kill, officer Torch," he explained, "Maybe this man knew one of the victims and went out for blood." He gestured to the Chinese food scattered across the grass. "He must have jumped the killer while he had his guard down; he wouldn't have expected it." Joseph began to gesture to every area of struggle and blood where the fight had taken place, "This man came at him and began beating on him. But our killer takes a knife to him and ends it."

The two detectives frowned at each other.

"Hey! Chief Torch!" a forensics doctor called, from across the park, "We have a call from a gentleman who says a suspicious looking man just entered an apartment building on the west side of South Ashfield!"

Scotts looked at Torch expectantly. "Think this could be our guy?"

The larger man smirked nastily and straightened up. "I got a feeling it just might be!" He turned to go, but the forensic's doctor stopped him.

"Can we send it downtown?" he asked, gesturing to the body.

Torch threw a look of exasperation at Scotts before he pointed angrily. "What the hell are you asking me for? Tag it and move it! Christ ... "

The detectives and officers quickly hurried for their vehicles and drove off, following the lead of Torch and Scott's squad car. The vehicles behind them started to flash their sirens, but Torch picked up his CB radio and spoke into it, exasperatedly.

"Hey! Keep those sirens off, boys!" he snapped, "If he hears us coming, we'll lose him!"

The sirens quickly shut off. Torch rolled his eyes skeptically at their naivety. "Christ, like dealing with new meat in Dallas all over again ... "

Scotts couldn't resist his amused laughter.

_Meanwhile_

Eric Walsh had always been a nice guy in South Ashfield. He payed his dues to the church, helped his friends when they were in need and even owned his own bar. It was his birthday today too and many of his more common customers had given him cards, bought fancy liquor for him and even baked small treats. Eric was happy with his life; he had almost everything he had ever wanted. All that was needed was a wife, really. And then, his life would truly be complete. He was a man of great happiness and joy.

A perfect way for Walter to take it from him.

"Eric!"

The bartender looked up as a man came rushing inside the bar. It was all but nearly empty now with only two or three men sitting at tables, talking and eating from bowls of peanuts. The football game was playing; the source of their attentions.

But the man who rushed in was a man that Eric had never seen before. He was dressed in a dampened raincoat which meant that it had started to rain outside. His mouth was covered over by a thick, purple scarf. His hair was untidy and brown in lumpy curls and his eyes dark blue. Eric was suspicious by the fact that he knew his name.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"I just came to tell you that the pet store guy was killed," the man said, worriedly, "Just be careful when you head home. The killer's still out there."

Eric looked surprised and made an effort to hide this. After all, he didn't know this man and for all that he DID know, he could very well be the murderer that he spoke of. "Alright, thanks for the heads up, buddy ... "

The man smiled and nodded before he turned and ran back out of the bar. As soon as he walked to the parking lot, there was a large black car parked there and the door opened, revealing Dahlia sitting there inside with a devious smile on her face.

"Leonard, how did it go?"

The man smirked and removed the scarf, revealing the aged features of Leonard Wolf. He smiled broadly at Dahlia and inhaled, clearing his nostrils. "Walter knows who must be next," he told her, "Now all he has to do is complete this portion of his test and then ... no one will stop him."

Dahlia chuckled at that.

Later on that evening, Eric was walking home with his eyes constantly focused to the dark corners of the damp streets and shadows. As he entered his apartment building, he did not take notice to a shape that moved eerily in his apartment, passing the window. So he continued toward his apartment, unaware of the potential threat that no doubt lingered. His hand started to reach for his keys and to unlock the door, but he stopped.

Something wasn't right.

He could sense it; there was something wrong about him being there. A small alarm that went off in his head as he entered his dark apartment room. The windows were open and fluttering the curtains, small raindrops pelting his hardwood floor. Eric noticed a muddy trail of footprints that led from the window into his kitchen. There was a faint glow coming from there as well, but every light in the house was off. He slowly, cautiously wrapped his fingers around a baseball bat leaning against his wall and moved toward the kitchen.

There was a small freshly baked cake sitting at the table, candles glowing brightly with tiny flames. The wax was already melting into the icing and Eric noticed his name written into it. But the most disturbing part was the man sitting there in front of it in a blue jacket with his head hung, hiding his face behind his hair.

"You!" Eric whispered, "You get on out of here! Get out of my house!"

Walter smiled and lifted his head slowly, elegantly. His eyes were an unholy red. Eric furrowed his brow. "Who...?" he began.

"Happy Birthday." Walter said, kindly. And with that, he removed his handgun from his coat and shot Eric point blank in the stomach.

Eric was too stunned by the action to scream. His eyes widened in his head and he finally collapsed to the floor, moaning and clutching his bleeding wound. Walter slowly stood up and walked over to the groaning, dying man and smiled down at him, tilting his head to one side as if he were a cat studying a mouse beneath his feet. Eric sucked in repetitive painful cries through his gushing lips and he rolled, trying to reach for his discarded bat that had fallen to the floor.

Walter calmly nudged it out of his reach with the toe of his foot and bent down to Eric. "Pl - Please ... " Eric moaned, "Don't ... "

"No. I won't." Walter told him, smiling calmly, "I won't kill you, Mr. Walsh. I'll just be taking your heart."

He removed a large knife and Eric's scream pierced the night.

Outside, police cruisers were pulling up and officers rushed out with weapons and clubs, ready for a fight that they were sure to get. Torch removed a megaphone and brought it to his lips. "Alright, we know you're in there!" he shouted, into it, "Come on out! We have the place surrounded, asshole! You have nowhere to run!"

The front doors of the apartment suddenly opened and Walter stepped out, his jacket soaked with blood and a knife tightly clenched in hand. The officers quickly trained their weapons onto him and he smiled, that same red in his eyes. His hands slowly moved upwards.

"Oh? But I have nowhere to run, gentleman." he told them.

He didn't even put up a fight as he was caught by both arms and shoved to the ground.


	12. Assumption

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer:** I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

_"She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..."_

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Eleven: Assumption**

_South Ashfield_

Cold.

The cell was so cold as well as the many voices from other cells around him; sneering, filthy faces, icy, grabby fingers and cold shouting that did nothing but roll off of Walter's shoulders as if it were nothing at all.

"Sullivan!" a man hissed, from a cell beside him, "I'm gonna fuck you like I fucked your mother!"

On screen in the police offices, the image of Walter Sullivan was revealed for the entire world to see. "_The unknown murderer of both Billy and Miriam Locane was apprehended and identified as Walter Sullivan, a 24-year-old white male. Little 's known about Sullivan, but he was charged with the murder of the two children as well as the other murder cases that have been filed in Pleasant River County. No news yet regarding Sullivan's trial date. More after this ... _"

There was an interview following the announcement of a younger man, wearing khaki pants and a denim jacket. He tsked and shook his head, staring at the camera. "_Yeah, I knew Sullivan_," he said, "_Quiet guy, kept to himself._"

The man interviewing him frowned. "_Did Sullivan ever show signs of murderous intent_?"

"_N - No. He didn't seem like the kind of guy to kill kids_."

O

Walter swayed back and forth miserably, moaning and sobbing gently into his arm. Valtiel watched him on the bed, head shuddering and soft whispering words filling the man's head. Walter whimpered and clawed at his own ears, trying to rid his head of the noise.

"It wasn't me ... " he moaned, "It wasn't me ... "

"Sullivan!"

Walter snapped out of his gaze to look up dazedly at two police officers standing there at his cell. They scowled at him. "Come on, time to have a chat!" one of them hissed. He was bigger than the other and not at all pleasant on the eyes.

Walter was taken in handcuffs to be evaluated by Torch and Scotts. Torch seemed none too pleased to even LOOK at Sullivan, much less talk to him. He was going to play the role of 'Bad Cop' while Scotts played the role of 'Good Cop'.

Scotts took a seat in front of Walter, smiling pleasantly. "Walter Sullivan," he said, "Is that your name? Walter?"

Walter did not react at all to the name. Scotts held a manilla folder in hand and opened it up, looking at what Walter could guess was information of his victims. "Well, let me explain your situation here, Walter," Walter's eyes wandered toward Joseph Schreiber for a brief second before he looked back at Scotts. "You cooperate with me and I may be able to convince them that you should be treated medically. In a hospital. I believe that would be good for you."

Walter smiled lightly, his blue eyes glimmering with red. Behind him, Valtiel's hand rested on his shoulders, influencing the man once more.

"Do you ... sir?" Walter asked, softly.

"I do," Scotts replied, "But the authorities wanna put you with the general population. They don't care if you live or die."

No surprise. Walter had never been wanted even without his reign of terror hanging over his shoulders. "Oh, such a pity, officer ... " he crooned, smiling slyly, "I really enjoy their presence. It's quite fun to toy with the weak and the wounded. Your job certainly qualifies you for that."

Scotts furrowed his brow and leaned forward. "Walter, can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"Is there someone else living inside of you?"

Torch scoffed with disgust and shook his head. "Come on, Scotts!" he snapped, "The guy's just playing you!"

Joseph said nothing to agree with him because he was focused intensely on Walter's face. Something had changed about it. He was sitting with pride, with a malicious gleam in his eyes, like he was a completely different individual.

Scotts squinted at Walter and cocked his head. "I spent two years in psychology at the university," he said, "I know a mental disorder when I see one." He smiled now and Walter smiled back, almost as if he was feigning the man to get him to believe something entirely false.

"Is there someone who lives inside of you, Walter?" he asked again.

"Sometimes." the man answered, shrugging.

"What is his name?"

Walter chuckled softly. "He has many names, silly man ... " he whispered.

"Okay, does he know why you killed those people?"

Walter inhaled deeply and leaned back. Valtiel's fingers gripped tighter to his shoulders. "Why should I tell you?" he asked, smiling continuously.

Scotts frowned. "Because I want to know. I think everyone wants to know."

"No. You don't."

"Excuse me?"

"All you want to know is when I will be put away ... forever," Walter leaned back in his chair, fingering with the cuff chains in the middle of his hands, "But trust me, all will be revealed very soon. Very, very soon."

Scotts realized that he was losing the man. Well, he had to try one more tactic. He gestured to Joseph and the journalist brought ink blotch cards over to him. Scotts held one of them up to Walter. "Alright, tell me what you see Mr. Sullivan."

Walter stared at the blotch in front of him. A flash of memory filled his head of Bob's bleeding corpse inside the shed. Swallowing hard, he fought back a humane look before smiling darkly at the officer there.

"A pretty little butterfly," he answered, waving his hands back and forth.

Scotts frowned, not convinced that he was being wholly honest. He revealed another card. "What about now? What do you see here?"

And another memory. The severed bodies of Miriam and Billy Locane flashed through his head. Walter clenched his fist beneath the table before smiling again. "A nice setting sun ... " He sighed when the officer placed the cards down. "There are other men in here with behavior more extreme than mine ... doc."

Scotts chuckled softly and shook his head. "Of course, they're not famous, are they?"

Walter actually laughed gently at that, amused. "I like you, officer."

O

Later that evening, Joseph began to go through several books in his apartment regarding a possible multiple personality disorder in Walter Sullivan. He just couldn't believe that Walter could be driven by that sort of thing. He had more of an agenda, he was certain.

**Dissociative identity disorder **_is a psychiatric diagnosis that describes a condition in which a person displays multiple distinct identities or personalities (known as alter egos or alters), each with its own pattern of perceiving and interacting with the environment. In the International Statistical Classification of Diseases and Related Health Problems the name for this diagnosis is multiple personality disorder. In both systems of terminology, the diagnosis requires that at least two personalities routinely take control of the individual's behavior with an associated memory loss that goes beyond normal forgetfulness; in addition, symptoms cannot be the temporary effects of drug use or a general medical condition._

_Individuals diagnosed with DID demonstrate a variety of symptoms with wide fluctuations across time; functioning can vary from severe impairment in daily functioning to normal or high abilities. _

_Symptoms can include:_

_* Multiple mannerisms, attitudes and beliefs that are not similar to each other_

_* Unexplainable headaches and other body pains_

_* Distortion or loss of subjective time_

_* Comorbidity_

_* Depersonalization_

_* Derealization_

_* Severe memory loss_

_* Depression_

_* Flashbacks of abuse or trauma_

_* Unexplainable phobias_

_* Sudden anger without a justified cause_

_* Lack of intimacy and personal connections_

_* Frequent panic/anxiety attacks_

_* Auditory hallucinations of alternate personalities (though these hallucinations typically posses a quality that makes them distinct from psychotic disorders or schizophrenia)_

_Patients may experience an extremely broad array of other symptoms that resemble epilepsy, schizophrenia, anxiety disorders, mood disorders, post traumatic stress disorder, personality disorders, and eating disorders._

It just didn't add up. With his capture and motives all together, Joseph had a feeling that something was missing in this puzzle. He reached across his cluttered desk for his journal and began to scribble note in place. A strange clatter stopped him and he looked over his shoulder. After a moment, he got up and walked into his living room, noticing a black, moldy spot that had appeared over his couch. With a grumble, he gathered some cleaning tools and began to scrub it clean.

He stopped and sniffed the wash cloth, grimacing at the putrid, foul odor. Was a pipe broken in the wall?

Joseph dialed the number for the superintendent and Frank came up in a short while to check up on the wall. He had his red toolbox with him and he began a quick analysis of the wall while Joseph watched him.

"Well... I don't see anything wrong with the piping," Frank said, "Could be mold ... " He turned and faced a disgusted Joseph. "I'll call the borough office tomorrow to have them come up here and do a mold test. That's the LAST thing this place needs is mold ... "

Joseph furrowed his brow and thought of something, just as Frank was starting for the front door. "Hey Frank?"

"Yeah?" The man paused at the front door.

"What do you think about this Walter Sullivan case?" Joseph looked at him.

Frank laughed quietly, but inside, he felt a little bit at unease. Ever since he had first seen the child, he hadn't felt right about him. "Glad the bastard's gone and locked up," he murmured, "One less maniac to deal with in this town."

Joseph furrowed his brow as the man departed. Something was off about him too. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. What could it all mean?

O

Inside the jail cells, the prisoners began to get very angry over Walter's soft whimpering sounds. He had his back to them as he was doing something out of visual range. Small, sputtering laughs occasionally echoed from him.

"Hey, shut the hell up, Sullivan!" a prisoner spat, "Tryin' to sleep!"

Walter giggled softly and continued to sway back and forth. What they couldn't see was him cutting numbers into the tops of his feet with a sharp object. 11 on one side and 21 on the other. A pool of blood was forming around his legs.

"Sullivan, I swear to God-"

Walter suddenly stood up, his eyes glittering red in the darkness of the cell. He grinned broadly at the man across cells from him and held up a spoon. "Hey, wanna see something cool?" he whispered, in a very, overly done fancied voice.

The prisoner looked confused.

Walter brought the spoon's end to his neck and he grinned wildly before jamming it deep into his throat. Blood gushed from his wound and prisoners began screaming wildly in horror and disbelief. Walter's body crumbled to the ground and lights began to flicker on. Security guards rushed into the scene to see what the commotion was all about.

" - OH MY GOD!"

" - What the F - What the hell?"

" - No, no, no!"

The guards looked over into Walter's cell and they gasped with horror. "Oh shit!" one of them cried. He looked at his comrade. "Call the chief!"

The sounds of chaos and discord as the guards tried to get the terrified prisoners in check faded away into the night, leaving the melodies of Valtiel's delighted moans at what had just transpired. He moved over to Walter's body and placed both hands onto his lifeless face.


	13. The Eye of the Storm

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..."

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Eleven: The Eye of the Storm**

_South Ashfield_

It ended as a shock to everyone.

Walter Sullivan. Taking his own life in the jail cell.

For some, they had mixed feelings regarding Sullivan and his murders. For others, they were glad to see him dead and out of their hair. And for those special few, they did nothing but pity him. They saw his actions merely as a man crying out for attention and love, what the "shrinks" usually called it. But Walter Sullivan had a goal in mind that oversaw everything in this world; the president, the heads of congress. They were all simply cattle to him and his ways; just blind fools with only one motive: money and greed.

And he was far too strong to allow even death to conquer him.

His flesh remained almost useless to him, but not wholly. After all, what would the Ritual be without self-sacrifice? To tear his very own flesh in half, severing it entirely Inner Self had been the goal the entire time. Walter felt that he had lost a portion of himself in the process, but it was the part that made very little difference to him. It was the weaker half of him, the part that made him human, the part that made him WEAK.

_Silent Hill Woods_

Jasper Gein shuddered as he sat in front of a large, mighty stone. There were several glowing candles that he had placed around his body, on the fence lining the area of the stone, and on the grass. They gave him a certain feeling of safety and warmth. The stone itself was always a channel for the dead. Why Jasper was here, even he did not know. He had always been frightened ever since after the incident with his friends. But he had a feeling that the Devil could not be killed so easily.

"K-K-Kinda g-gives me the ch-chills," he mumbled, to himself, "This stone...Y-Y-Yeah...g-g-gives me the ch-ch-chills..."

From outside an RV parked close to Jasper's position, a man wearing gruff, tattered clothing called out angrily to him. "Hey! Gein!" he shouted, "What are you doing over there? That's where that psycho Sullivan was buried!"

Jasper looked over his shoulder and waved at the man, acknowledging him. The man sighed with pity and waved him off, slinking back into his RV and slamming the door behind him. Jasper watched the vehicle for a moment before looking back up at the ominous stone. Suddenly, something moving on the side of the stone caught his eye. It was Valtiel's shuddering form, looking over him. Jasper's eyes widened in horror.

_"JAAAAASSSSPPPPPEEEERRR ... " _

Jasper stumbled backwards from his seat, falling flat onto his back. Valtiel continued to watch him silently before gesturing with a single gloved finger toward Wish House. Jasper trembled with fear, but looked in the creature's indicated direction. To the place where HE had been buried. There was a fog slowly rising up from the lakeside which gave the forest an even more eerie vibe for the poor, frightened man.

_"Jasper, I'm gonna geeet yeeeeeeewww ... " _

The voice sounded like him, carried in the wind like a soft, whistle. But it was enough to jolt Jasper and he sprang to his feet, fleeing for his car. The man in the RV watched him from his window and shook his head with mock pity.

"Huh. Crazy kids ... "

O

Joseph sat at his desk, making every effort to ponder this new revelation of Walter Sullivan's supposed death. He was surrounded in articles, a few snipping clips from books that he had taken, written memos and collected artifacts from his journey into this insane mind of Sullivan. While he went through his collection, a thunderous booming sound jolted him where he sat and he looked toward the windows to see rain beginning to pelt them hard.

Joseph heaved a relieved sigh and stood up, walking to the windows to close the curtains. As he did, a dull, and even almost sharp thumping sound called his attention toward the bathroom. He walked inside and gave it a clean sweep with his gaze before he noticed something off about the wall nearest the toilet. There was a small pile of paint that had chipped away and even a little concrete. Joseph crouched down and pinched some of it into his fingers for study. Another thumping sound from behind the wall caused Joseph to stare upwards in mild alarm. He raised his ear to the wall to see if he could hear anything.

No sound now.

Joseph frowned suspiciously. No one lived in the apartment beside him.

So what was that?

Joseph walked out into the hallways of the apartment complex and looked around to see if anyone was there. There was a stillness, a perpetual silence that suggested nothing had moved, save for himself. Maybe it was just the sounds of the walls creaking.

No. He knew what he had heard.

Joseph reentered his apartment and paused at the sight of a blackened, tar-like substance that had appeared on his living room wall again. He made a frustrated sound and gathered some soapy water in a bucket to start cleaning the spot. But as he began, he leaned forward and noticed something very bizarre about it. The moldy goo looked to almost take the shape of a human face. Joseph leaned close and rubbed his fingers against it.

Something wasn't right about this.

_Wish House_

Hands moved frantically, running through soft, wet mud and grime to uncover the corpse of Walter Sullivan beneath the dirt. The body was still very fresh from the day after it had been made into a blood-soaked corpse. Hands grasped it beneath the armpits and pulled the body out of its grave, slowly working to fit it into a black body bag. While this took place, the man in his RV stepped outside to observe the dimly-lit car and figure working.

"Hey!" he shouted, "Hey, what the hell are you doing over there?"

The figure stopped and stood still, a glowing, black specter in the light of the car, watching the man. He scowled and gestured with his hands. "Get away from that place!" he shouted, "What's wrong with you?" No response. "What's the matter, don't you understand English?"

The silent form stood still for a brief moment before slowly starting to approach the man. As this being's shadow slowly enveloped the confused man, he began to notice something wrong about the stranger and his eyes widened, studying the face of the shape in front of him.

"H - Hey, you're bleeding, man!" he said. "It's all over your ne ... "

The being staring down at him seemed to stare directly into his eyes, a gaze that was so powerful, it stopped him in mid-sentence; it dove down deep into whatever soul still remained in his body. They were icy blue orbs tinged with red, his blue raincoat speckled with bright red blood and his brown pants and shoes caked in fresh, damp mud. The man did not know who this was at first glance because the stranger's damp, brown strands of hair blocked his face from view.

The man suddenly felt his legs tremble beneath him. Why was he acting like a terrified little boy? Nothing had ever made him shake like this.

Finally, the stranger spoke in a sweet, polite voice, studying him up and down. "Nice shoes ... "

_South Ashfield Heights_

_3 Years Later_

Eileen Galvin sat outside the apartment building, talking with her friends about a Halloween party at her school. Her mother was close by to keep an eye out for her. After all, three years had passed since Walter Sullivan's murders, but not a single person took any chances anymore. It had been a wake-up call for the entire community. The 10 year old girl was ignorant to the murders because her parents thought it best to keep the details from her.

After all, what could you tell a child about murder?

"Eileen!" her mother called, from the doors, "Get inside if you want to finish your costume!"

Eileen and the girls rushed inside the apartment building; Eileen trailed behind them before she stopped and noticed a man standing beside a door marked 302. She paused curiously and stared up at the man, not sure what to make of him.

"Hey mister?"

Her mother called for her before she could continue. "Eileen! Come on!"

Eileen gave the strange man another look before she walked away. He returned his stare to the door of room 302 before grinning widely.


	14. Void

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer: **I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

"She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..."

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Twelve: Void**

_South Ashfield_

"Shit..."

Torch cursed himself as he dropped a doughnut onto the floor of the police station. Scotts raised a brow at him before he looked up at the sight of two officers wheeling in a punk dressed in baggy pants, a brown striped jacket and beanie.

"Oh look, Walls is back ... " Scotts murmured, shaking his head.

The man, Peter Walls was pushed into a cell and locked up. He paced back and forth, whimpering and moaning against the walls. Torch and Scotts watched his movements skeptically and even with bare pity.

"Huh, poor kid's such a damn coward without his fix, eh Scotts?" Torch said.

Peter groaned weakly, face mashed against the walls. He looked so pitiful in his condition. But of course, several of his buddies arrived with his bail money so he was out the same day of his capture. It was terrible to think that he would simply do the same thing over and over again.

"It's just a waste of time dealin' with these punks," Torch said, watching a laughing Peter and his friends pile into a car and drive off, "Sooner or later, these kids gotta learn their lesson somewhere. We can't keep talkin' to them."

Later on, Peter and his two friends Jacob and Tyler spent the entire evening hanging outside and making raucous calls at passing women in their cars. A Lexus pulled up in front of the boys and the window rolled down. Out poked the face of middle - aged, African American Toby Archbolt, priest of the Holy Mother Sect. Although these boys knew nothing about it, Toby was using them to spread his influence to his sect after what had happened to two of his priests.

"Hey, got my stuff?" Peter asked, smiling.

Toby smiled back. "Don't spend it all in one place, my friend." He offered Peter a bag of something and Peter handed him a roll of money.

"Yeah, yeah, go jump off a cliff, homeboy!" Peter hooted, as Toby drove off.

"You're a moron, ya' know that?" Jacob teased, laughing at him.

Peter inhaled the aroma of the contents in the bag before sighing with pleasure. "I'm a moron who's about to get high, mothafuckas!" He laughed and his friends yelled out loudly with him, reaching in to pull out several smaller bags from inside the larger one.

After a few sessions of smoking their bags of pot, the three friends walked down the street, laughing and ranting crazily. Peter was the loudest of them all, shouting with bestial excitement and crazed insanity. Several people had to avoid them on the other sides of the street. The three boys pushed each other and continued laughing as they moved down the alleyway between Hotel Ashfield and the laundry mat.

Suddenly, the sounds of sirens cut through the air and the three boys gasped.

- "Shit!"

- "Son of a bitch, the cops!"

- "Goddamnit!"

Peter gestured to a fire escape latter and they quickly rushed up the length of it, just as a police cruiser streaked on by beneath them, obviously in pursuit of another individual and not them specifically. They could even hear the officer inside, talking about a "suspicious-looking man walking by the hotel". Obviously though, it wasn't them. They were THREE in company and by no means, suspicious looking. Well, according to their stoned standards.

"Whew, that was a close one!" Tyler sighed, hanging his legs down from the edge of the ladder.

Peter made a mocking salute to his friends. "Thank you, thank you," he said, "Point goes to Peter for his magnificent display of intellectual thinking!" He nearly stumbled off of the edge and his friends laughed at his condition.

"You're fucked up, man!" Jacob teased.

The boys took turns huddling together and smoking several more joints as they waited for the cop to pass. The boys look around the eerie darkened alleyway lit only by the glow of the sodium vapor lights around. A gnawing tearing sound made Jacob glance up. He couldn't see it, but Valtiel was moving shakily on the rooftops of the hotel, watching them. And yet, despite his high feeling, Jacob wanted to get out of there.

"Let's get the hell outta here." he said, worried.

Suddenly, thunder boomed loudly and rain began to pour down onto them. Tyler and Jacob cried out and quickly dove down from the ladder, landing onto their feet. Peter was still smoking, oblivious to the needs of getting out of the rain. He chuckled and looked up, seeing the sight of a figure standing higher above him on the fire escape. His blurred, drugged vision perceived it as a holy shape with a halo and glow.

"Hey!" he called down to his friends, "Guys, I ... I think I see God!"

Jacob and Tyler laughed at him and shook their heads at his condition. "You gonna get real acquainted if your ass doesn't get out of the rain!" Jacob hollered.

The figure moved into a window and Peter grinned, climbing up the ladder to reach him. "Hey!" he called, "Don't go! Hey! Come back."

His friends shook their heads, not willing to deal with this. They walked off. "See ya' in court, dumb ass!" Tyler shouted back to him.

Peter stumbled into the window and fell flat on his face, cursing himself when his joint fell onto the floor of the room that he fell into. It was dark, so it became difficult to seen anything really. He shivered and shook his damp hair a bit before looking around.

"God, are you here?" he called, grinning.

_"Peeeeteeeer ... Come out and plaaaayyyy!"_

Behind Peter stood a shape, a shadow, a tall silhouette, a man-shaped deeper darkness forming within the darkness. He struggled to reach for his zippo and light it. Sensing the presence of the shape, Peter whirled and studied the man there. He laughed nervously.

"Uh, hehe, hi!" he said. He glanced down and noticed a metal bat clenched tight in the man's hand. "W-What's the bat for?"

"You ... " the man answered, calmly and quietly.

Peter chuckled weakly as he advanced with the bat in hand. "Look man, I didn't mean to jump into your room and all, I just thought-Hey, wait a minute!" He raised two hands to defend himself. "Don't do that, wait!"

The bat came down, hard.

Peter's zippo fell to the floor, casting the room into darkness. He couldn't strike back at his attacker because all that happened was the sounds of wood striking wetly against flesh and bone snapping in two. He struggled to climb from the window, face gleaming with blood. Before he could make it though, he was grabbed by his ankles by his foe. A dull chuckle filled the air from the assailant and Peter struggled to hold on tightly to the window edge.

"Where are you going?" the shape hissed, "We were just starting to have fun. I thought you wanted to meet God ... "

Peter opened his mouth to scream, but he was sucked - pulled back into the darkened room with a muffled scream to follow. Finally, there came another meaty smacking sound and dead silence followed with it.

_Later_

"Son of a bitch... SON OF A BITCH!"

Torch and Scotts stared down at the broken, blood-drenched form of Peter Walls in the hotel room. Various officers were checking his body for prints and any evidence to implicate the man or woman responsible for it. Scotts held up a wrapped joint and offered it to Torch, who turned it around in his gloved hands for study. He found a bit of blood on the end of it before chuckling dryly and handing it back to Scotts.

"I guess this must've killed him." he said, "Knew it would happen someday to these waste heads."

"Uh ... Torch?"

The two men looked down at a worried-looking cop who was staring down at Peter Wall's arm. "I think you'd better take a look at this."

Torch gave Scotts a frown before he moved over across the room to the corpse. He knelt down and stared at the cop curiously. "What's the matter?" he asked.

The officer turned Peter's arm, revealing the numbers, "12121" carved into his wrist. Torch's eyes widened and Scotts could see it from his position. He stood there, completely horrified by the familiar sight of the numbers.

"No ... " Torch gasped.

Scotts and Torch moved outside and Torch was angrily shouting at his friend. "No fucking way that son of a bitch is still alive!" he raged, "NO FUCKING WAY!"

"It could be a copycat killer doing this," Scotts suggested, "Or what if Joseph was right and we - "

Torch thrust a meaty finger in his face. "No! That was the real Sullivan, I know it was!" he spat, "Don't you even get dragged into that wacko's mumbo - jumbo, it's a damn ghost brought back from the dead bullshit cuz it ain't real!"

"I haven't even seen him lately, sir," Scotts said, glancing around, "He's been gone for a few days now."

Torch grunted furiously and rubbed the back of his dampened neck with one hand. "Goddamn asshole was all over this case, now he's gone and vanished on us. He'd better have a good reason for this, otherwise he's out."

Meanwhile, Joseph was sleeping in his apartment and awoke to the sounds of something shattering. He jolted out of bed, fell onto his ass before jumping up again and running into his living room. As soon as he did, he felt something heavy in the air. A change in pressure and temperature. Joseph grunted slightly and touched his temples with two hands, rubbing them lightly to ease the building pain that he felt.

When he looked over at his front door, his eyes went wide in horror. "What the hell?"

There were thick coils of chains wrapped tightly around each end of the door, locking it up. Every single loop and coil looked to be brand new and shiny. Joseph walked over slowly, touching the loops of chain with delicate fingers. With a shout, he grabbed the stool on his kitchen counter and tossed it at the door fiercely. It remained intact as the metal stool collided uselessly against the chains. He tried again and again before tiring out and dropping to his knees.

On the other side of the door, Frank and a few of the tenants were worriedly surrounding Joseph's apartment, listening to strange sounds coming from it. Frank had gone through Joseph's key, but so far, he had no luck of opening the door.

"Joseph!" Frank shouted, beating on the door with one fist. "Open this door!"

Richard walked through the crowd and frowned at him. "What's going on, Frank?" he asked.

"Joseph won't open the door. I heard a scream from inside," Frank told them all, "I think he's barricaded himself in."

"Did you try the key?" Richard asked.

"Yeah. It's the right one too!" Frank held up the key as proof, "But it's not working."

Richard pushed him aside, drew out his revolver and aimed it at the doorknob. Everyone recoiled and held their ears as he pumped several rounds out against the knob, trying to destroy it in hopes of getting inside. But when Richard finally ran out of ammunition, they stared down in shock at the doorknob that still remained intact.

"No way!" a random tenant gasped.

On the other side, Joseph could hear the sounds of their attempts to help him out of the room. He beat on the door for several moments before a low crashing sound drew his attention to the bathroom. Frowning, he slowly walked over toward the door and cautiously opened it. To his surprise, he found the entire bathroom in shambles; paint chips littered the floor, the wall toward the toilet seemed to have caved in on itself and formed an endless hole that led to who knew where.

Joseph gazed inside, feeling a cool draft from the darkness. After a few moments of studying the strange symbols around the hole, he rushed into the kitchen to grab a flashlight before returning to shine it inside the hole.

"Hello?" he called.

It seemed to echo several feet away and several more sounds bounced back at him; snarls from something animal, moans and whispers from man and woman alike. Joseph glanced over his shoulder for a moment before he fitted the small flashlight into his teeth so that his hands were free enough for him to climb inside. Whoever made this hole had to have come from somewhere. He had a feeling it would lead to trouble, but what other options did he have?

Joseph crawled through dirt and grime, grunting as he kept the flashlight in his teeth in front of him for light. He knew after a few feet that this tunnel was not made by normal means. Something inhuman had made this. It was beginning to feel very hot and cramped, reminding Joseph of a trip down the birth canal. Whoever or whatever made this... But what did it want with him?

Coughing from the dust, Joseph dropped the flashlight from his teeth to take a quick break. A cold wind blew passed his face and he flinched, hearing a soft sighing sound echoing from it. Moving quickly, Joseph crawled toward a dimly - lit opening that surely led him out of this tunnel. He immediately fell from the hole, collapsing onto cold granite with a grunt of pain. After a moment's pause, Joseph climbed to his feet, cradling the flashlight tightly in hand.

It looked like the subway system that transported people back and forth between North and South Ashfield. There was nothing strange about it save for the same heavy sensation in the air. Joseph looked around for a moment before glancing back at the hole that he had fallen from.

What was going on?

Behind him in the distance, a large figure suddenly moved passed the dimly-lit hallways.

Joseph immediately stopped moving. His body became very still as he slowly turned in the direction that the shape had passed. He didn't move at first, but just stood there and stared down the darkness of the hallway. Joseph felt a tightened sensation in his chest and he hesitated before being drawn toward the direction that the figure had dashed. He moved down the hall slowly, keeping his flashlight in front of him.

He turned the corner - coming to a stop in the doorway of a bathroom. Someone was crying inside of it. Joseph pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside. There was a shape crouched in the corner of the bathroom, right underneath the sinks. Joseph's fear slowly fades away as he approached what looked like a teenage boy dressed in dirty overalls without a t-shirt beneath it. He reached out carefully.

"Hey," he said, gently, "Are you alright?"

The boy turned his head to look at him and Joseph jumped back, horrified. His face was demented, lacerated and bruised. A purple gash cut across his forehead. Joseph's eyes widened with shock and he uttered a quick, horrified gasp, facing the very spirit that had once belonged to a young boy he had never known. The ghost of BOB, Walter's dearly departed friend. He floated inches off of the floor and raised two hands.

"LOOK WHAT HE DID!" Bob screamed, in a distorted, terrifying voice.

Joseph's face drained of color.

"LOOK WHAT FAT PAT DID TO ME!" Bob continued, thrusting his wrists forward. They were bruised horrendously and covered in savage cuts. The same damage had been done to his crushed ribs and bruised belly.

Joseph backed up to the doorway and winced as a stab of pain lanced through his head. The ghost drifted menacingly toward him, continuously screaming horribly. "LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!"

The wall alongside Joseph's head suddenly bent and rippled like liquid, forming the face of Walter Sullivan and he turned, sprinting down the halls toward the hole. He could hear Bob still wailing, close behind him now. Joseph continued to run, panting desperately as he dove completely into the hole, scurrying inside before the ghost could reach him. He crawled and crawled, glancing back to see the spirit hovering at the end of the hall. It remained at a distance, watching him with helpless, demented eyes.

"Oh God, oh God!" Joseph breathed, crawling and crawling until he reached his apartment once more.

He reached his bathroom floor and quickly shut the door, hoping to God that nothing could get him now.

But he knew that there was always that possibility.


	15. Darkness

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer:** I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

_"She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..."_

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Thirteen: Darkness**

_South Ashfield_

Joseph had literally spent all morning boarding up his storage room. He placed some new wooden boards, some concrete bricks and a fresh coat of paint to follow. Besides the heavy smell of paint that lingered in the apartment, Joseph still had a terrible headache. He couldn't sleep much at night because he continuously thought that someone was going to climb out from that hole and murder him in his sleep. He had to solve this problem and fast. People in this apartment had to be warned as soon as he found out who was behind this and who would be next of the murders. The death of Peter Walls had reached his ears from the radio that still sat in his room.

Fortunately, everything seemed to work okay in his apartment; the stereo was fine, the TV worked fine and the water was running good. But why was the door barricaded still? Who had done this and why would they want him still here?

And then, Joseph saw it.

There was a message scrawled in blood on his front door that read:

"DON'T GO OUT!"

-Walter

Oh God. It was him. Walter Sullivan. He had been behind all of this. Every single bit of his suspicions were true regarding Walter's supposed death and resurrection. Or maybe he had never died to begin with... Either way, he had to warn people that Walter Sullivan was still alive somehow and he was killing people again. But how? There was nothing helping him save for that tunnel that lead to who-knew where else.

Maybe the phone would help.

Joseph walked to his bedroom and just as he reached for it, it rang. Confused and wary, he picked the phone up and brought it to his ear.

"Hello?"

_"Is this Joseph Schreiber?" _It was an older woman's voice.

"Who is this?" Joseph asked.

_"This is Sharon Blake. I work at the hospital. I'm a housekeeper there. Listen, I found your number in the Concord and your article. I was wondering if you could help me." _She sounded somewhat desperate, so Joseph's heart immediately went out to her, despite the circumstances.

"What can I help you with?" he asked, hoping it wasn't a long-distance issue.

_"It's my family. They've gone missing. Well...no. They've been missing for a long time and I think I know why,"_ Sharon told him, _"You wrote stories about the Order, so surely you know what I'm talking about. They've been stalking me and my kin for too long now. My family and I have declined and declined their demands to join, but they haven't given up. I suspect they're up to no good, but I don't know where to look. Can you please help me?"_

Joseph knew how dangerous these people were. He couldn't let her do this on her own.

"Look, these are dangerous people, Sharon," he told her, "Don't do anything stupid. Find the police and they - "

She made a frustrated sound over the phone. _"I've tried everything! I think the police may be in on it too! Please, I'm begging you. I'm an old woman who just wants some closure on all of this. Please. Something. Anything will make me happy."_

"Well ... " Joseph relented slightly, hesitating a bit. "The Wish House by the woods near Silent Hill has been suspected of - "

_"Bless you, boy!" _Sharon exclaimed, _"Bye!"_

Joseph panicked. "No, wait! Don't - "

The hum of an open line was all that answered back. Joseph sat there in horror. What had he just done? He had sent an innocent woman to her death, probably. He had to get out of this room and stop her before she was killed!

Finally, the static on the other end of the phone crackled and popped, followed by the distorted sound of Walter's voice. It wasn't the usual calm, stoic tone of voice either. It was filled with malicious intent and harshness. _"BETTER COME AND GET HER SOON!"_

Joseph gasped and quickly hung the phone up at the sound of Walter's voice. His heart hammered wildly in his chest and he breathed heavily to calm himself down. He stumbled out of his room and hurried toward the only means of his escape from the apartment; the tunnel. But not before grabbing a small pistol from his nightstand. He hated the damned thing, but it was just used as a means of protection and if Walter was alive, he could use it to protect himself.

He had to stop Sharon from going to Wish House. Hopefully, he would make it in time.

And so, he climbed into the tunnel.

_Silent Hill Woods_

Joseph winced as he fell from the tunnel and contacted cold grass. Confused, he staggered to his feet and looked up in shock to find that he was no longer in the subway but in a cold, dark forest. He recognized this forest from before when he tried to get some information from-

"Wish House ... " he whispered, haunted.

Did Walter want him to come here? Was this strange tunnel somehow alive in a strange way? Joseph had always explored the possibilities of the supernatural and the cult behind the Orphanage, but he had never experienced it up until now. Joseph had always believed in possibilities of anything happening in the real world. Hell, it was what he wrote about all the time. But he was also a realist as well. Something was behind this and as soon as he found out what, he could have some kind of peace.

And then, he heard the sound of an idling vehicle not too far from where he was. Maybe that was Sharon. He wasn't too late after all.

Scrambling to his feet, Joseph raced toward the sound. "Sharon!" he called, pushing trees aside, "Sharon, wait a second!"

But when he arrived at the clearing, he found no one and there was only an idling green vehicle parked there. Joseph walked up to it and checked for anyone inside. It was unoccupied and the door was even open. Joseph looked up and noticed that Jasper was sitting near the rock again, murmuring quietly to himself. He had lit fresh candles and they were glowing eerily in the night. Nonetheless, Joseph was happy to see someone and he walked up.

"Excuse me, sir?" he said, "You got a minute?"

Jasper looked up at him. "O - Oh, what do y - you want?" he asked, his voice somewhat shaken.

Joseph looked up at the eerie-looking rock and frowned. "This rock ... " he mused. "What are you doing anyway?"

"J - Just sitting here, th - thinking." Jasper answered, still not looking up at him, "S - S - Sometimes the Natives would c-come here and talk to th - this stone. They used it to - to channel the d - d - dead, you know. R - Really ... Really cool stuff."

Joseph frowned at him and shrugged his shoulders. "So why are you out here?"

"Y - You s - sure are a n - nosy g - guy," Jasper then squinted up at him suspiciously, "W - Why are you asking m - m - me this?"

"I just need to know what's going on here, that's all," Joseph told him, sternly, "Do you know something about Walter Sullivan?"

Jasper reacted slightly to the name; a nervous gasp and a slight widening of his eyes. He looked up at Joseph and shook his head. "No ... No I - I don't ... "

"You're lying to me, I can tell," Joseph said, with pity as Jasper immediately and rapidly shook his head against the accusation, "Why are you lying anyway? What are you so scared of that you can't tell me?"

"Th - There's a l - lot to b - be afraid of," Jasper told him, shivering against the cold.

_Meanwhile_

The older woman Sharon Blake moved slowly and carefully through the woods of Silent Hill. She was looking around for the orphanage with determination, willing and spirited enough to find her family who she knew where in danger of the Order. Her shoes sunk into soft, wet mud, but that didn't bother her. Once she found then, she would be fine. Everything would be fine for her. She could rest easy knowing the truth.

A strange sound stopped her and she looked back through the darkened woods, trying to pinpoint its source. "Hello?" she called, "Who's there?"

_"Shaaaarrrooooon ... "_

The wind howled her name almost. It was just the wind, but why did it sound like it had carefully punctuated her name and she felt that someone was watching her. Was she going to be killed tonight? Sharon knew that they were out there. The Order's lap dogs.

They would not catch her without a fight.

But then, she saw him.

He was standing between two trees, his eyes glowing a demonic red, blue coat almost shining under the moon's peek through the tall trees. He grinned widely and waved at her with an almost mocking, quick rapid wave.

Sharon turned and ran.

Her fast, rapid movements were in sharp contrast to the man's slow, casual stride through the woods as he pursued her at an even pace. Sharon continued to run and even uttered a loud scream which carried to Jasper and Joseph.

Joseph looked up sharply. "Did you hear that?"

He ran into the woods in high - speed pursuit to find Sharon.

O

The old woman ran until she could run no longer, stopping long enough to back against a thick tree. There were no sounds save for the chirping of crickets and the whistling of the night wind. She looked around for signs of the man before peering ahead toward a clearing. Something was there.

Sharon slowly moved over toward the object that stood there. Gravestones. They were ensnared in vines that blocked out the names. Tightening her throat, she pulled the vines apart, revealing the names of her husband and her son scratched in the stone. Oh God, they were really here. Dead. Those bastards of the Order had killed them and buried them here in these woods. Sharon felt her head spinning with despair and anger at the sight.

Behind her stood the shadowed man.

Sharon sensed his presence a bit too late because as soon as she turned with a loud scream of "no", he swung his fist, smashing her in the face and sending her falling to the ground. She gave a low moan of pain, blood gushing from her nose and lips. She struggled to her feet and he moved behind her, studying her struggles with fascination.

"No, don't!" Sharon cried, as soon as he picked her up around the throat, slapping a hand over her mouth.

Joseph heard the shout as he rushed toward it. He only hoped that he could save her in time. As he ran, he noticed the shape of the man rushing through the trees just several yards away, dragging a screaming form in one arm.

"Stop!" he shouted, toward the man, "I said, stop!"

When he reached the edge of the woods, there was no signs of the man or the victim. All that could be seen was Toluca Lake and the utter silence that went with it. Joseph cursed himself mentally and kicked some rocks. After a moment of silence, there was another scream and Joseph tore toward it.

Sharon was being pushed into the water of the lake, face down and drowning by the strange man in the blue coat. Joseph rushed up to the scene and raised his handgun to the man.

"Let me see your hands!" he shouted, "I said, let me see your hands!"

To his horror, Sharon was still in the water. She had all but stopped struggling by now and the man stood up, chuckling quietly.

"Oh my God ... " Joseph gasped, softly.

It was Walter Sullivan. No doubt. He looked the same as he did just before dying. But there was definitely a significant change in him. His calm, sweet features were still there, but his eyes. His eyes were wide and filled with insanity. The crazed, delirium that he had just before the police arrested him and when he had last spoken to the guards while he was being interrogated. There was a chill that ran down Joseph's back just being in his presence.

"Joseph ... " Walter crooned, "Welcome to my world ... "

Joseph squeezed the trigger, firing a direct shot at Walter. To his shock and horror, the bullet passed harmlessly through the 'man' and struck a tree behind him. Walter smiled broadly and Joseph dropped his weapon to the ground, horribly confused and shocked.

"Hehehe ... " Walter giggled, "I do wonder ... " He pulled out a pistol from his jacket and aimed it directly for Joseph. "Will this bullet pass through you without any damage?"

Joseph stood glued to his spot, unsure of what to do. Walter watched him for several moments before fitting his gun back into his coat. He just grinned widely at Joseph, as if the man amused him to no real end.

"You can't get away with this again, Walter!" Joseph told him, defiantly, "You will be stopped one way or another!"

Walter grinned at him. "Then why don't you stop me?"

He held out his arms, almost as if he was going to embrace Joseph, but instead, he vanished into thin air. Joseph's eyes widened and he gave a sharp cry when Walter appeared behind him with a crowbar in hand, pressing it against his throat. Joseph struggled and kicked out to get free, but Walter was unbelievably stronger than he looked. He could feel his long hair tickling the side of his neck and his hot breath in his ear.

"Oh, Joseph, Joseph, Joseph ... " Walter sighed, dramatically, "The truth is open to those who see; all along I have planned for this. My plans for you ... "

"What are you ... talking about?" Joseph choked, struggling to breathe. His fingers dug at the pipe, trying to pull it loose from his throat.

"Giver ... " Walter whispered, in his ear, "Giver ... You write songs of wisdom to the world, but do they hear and receive? Oh yes, they do. You shall become my Giver of Wisdom, Joseph. You will give the wisdom of Mother to the next."

Joseph struggled before Walter finally vanished in a puff of black smoke, cackling in the darkness.

The man stood there in silence before walking up to the lifeless form of Sharon and turning her body in his arms, revealing the lifeless, open-mouthed grimace of horror forever stamped on her face. He felt sick to his stomach as he rose again, walking back through the woods. He couldn't stop him. He couldn't save her and now, Walter was still alive and even stronger than he used to be. Immortal? Nothing was forever. Just ... stronger.

When he returned home, he decided to look for some information regarding the ghosts and what he could do to make facing them easier again. Was Walter even technically a ghost? He couldn't let his fear discourage him.

There were a few things that looked to be useful, despite his doubt regarding their authenticity. SAINT MEDALLION, HOLY CANDLE and even better, something called the SWORD OF OBEDIENCE. Supposedly, they helped against supernatural essences. Maybe since Walter's world was real, these items would be real too. But where would one go about getting these things? He couldn't just walk up to Walter and ask.

Then, he remembered the candles that surrounded Jasper in the cemetery. Maybe he knew something about them.

Finally, he climbed back into the hole, entering the world of madness once more.


	16. Gloom

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer**: I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

_"She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..."_

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Fourteen: Gloom**

_Mexico City_

_Several Months Later_

It was no real coincidence that it was _Día de las Madres _in Mexico that day. Why was this important? Perhaps because Mother's Day was particularly special to not just anyone. Walter Sullivan was particularly fond of the holiday.

Of course, Toby Archbolt wasn't. He saw his trip to Mexico as a means to squander on money, drugs and all the underage girls who came down here to party. The citizens of Mexico City were never too fond of his presence there, but that was because they never knew him or what deeds he had done for his country and his church. Sometimes, they avoided him all together because he came off as a trouble maker or a gang leader.

Toby didn't mind the brush act at all. He took the time to go into a local bar and enjoy the beer and the women while he was there. He received a few annoyed stares from some of the locals there, including an older man and his son.

"_Norteamericanos_ ... " the father muttered, shaking his head with pity.

"_Es siempre tan fuerte. Deseo que acabe de salir_." his son agreed, taking a drink from his beer.

The bartender was even somewhat disgruntled. With the volume going on at his bar, the police were sure to come in and harass him about it. He snapped his fingers toward Toby and his group. "_¡Oye! Toma a sus amigos y va. ¡Es demasiado fuerte!_"

Toby raised his brows and whispered to his friend. "What did he say?" he asked, skeptically.

His friend laughed quietly. "I think he wants us to go."

Toby shrugged, not the slightest bit deflated. He knew some Spanish, but not enough for him to understand it on a fluent level. He stood up with his friends and they started to walk out of the bar, laughing loudly with pleasure. Toby kicked a bar stool over and the locals scowled after him with disgust and irritation.

He was suddenly stopped by a much older Mexican woman wearing a thick veil and coat. She studied him for a long time, squinting as if something about him bothered her. He gave her a sour look and gestured with one hand.

"Look, we're leaving, alright?' he muttered, "Just get lost."

She furrowed her brow and looked over at a man sitting at a table. She seemed to know him because of the direct way he looked up as soon as she cast her gaze to him. "_Puede sentirse la mal que lo rodea ..._ " she whispered.

He looked at Toby and his features seemed grave somehow. He looked up and met the younger man's gaze. "_Si ... __La cosechadora anda en su sombra_."

Toby raised a brow at them both, unable to understand. Quite frankly, he was getting annoyed too. "Look, I no speak da Spanish talk, but I know something that you might both comprehend," he snapped, "_Queme en el infierno_."

That caused the man to blinked in shock and the older woman didn't look deterred by it. Instead, she smiled sadly and shook her head at him. "_Quemaremos juntos entonces._"

O

Toby disappeared out into the night with his friends. After a few more drinks and jokes, they went their separate ways. Toby went to a hotel with two women and spent the remainder of the night having guilt-free sex with them. He was a man of shamelessness and pride, which made him the perfect target for vengeance.

Later that night, Toby slept peacefully with the two women under his arm. A strange tapping sound at his window awoke him. He grumbled and looked toward the motel window. He reached beneath the bed, removing a revolver. He walked outside and looked around for any signs of a culprit who would dare mess around with him. There were no signs of anyone outside and the streets were silent and dark as usual.

"Hm ... " Toby mused, furrowing his brow thoughtfully.

Just as he turned to go back into his room, a whispering sound froze him where he stood. It sounded like a man's voice, whispering his name from somewhere in the woods. Frowning with irritation, Toby turned.

"Alright, if you're fucking with me, just come on out and I'll only make it hurt for a second!" he shouted, into the wood with his gun aimed.

No response this time.

Not entirely satisfied, Toby moved slowly into the woods, seeking out the being who called his name. "Hey!" he called, "Don't be a pussy! Come out and face me!"

He continued walking until he arrived at a cliff side, nearly falling over the edge. He yelped and swung his hands back and forth to keep his balance, sending smaller rocks plummeting several feet below. Toby took a few moments to breathe with relief before he turned and came face - to - face with Walter Sullivan. He gave a sharp cry and readied his handgun, but Walter moved just as quick and grabbed his wrist tightly in one hand.

Toby yelled out in pain and dropped to his knees as Walter snapped his wrist back, breaking the joints nearly in two. Toby moaned and grabbed his pained limb, just as Walter grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him toward the cliff edge.

"N - NO!" Toby shrieked, "Don't throw me! Don't throw me!"

Walter smiled down at him, leaning him over the edge. "Why?" he asked, gently, "You've spent so long digging your own grave in life, I'm just giving you a hand."

"You can't!" Toby cried, "You can ... " He trailed off and studied Walter's features for a long time before his eyes grew wide in horror. "Oh God ... it's you ... " he gasped, shaking his head rapidly, "You ... I knew you looked familiar I knew it!" He grinned nervously when Walter's smile broadened. "B - But you can't be you. No. No, you died. You died in that cell a long time ago. You can't be alive now. You can't be alive!"

Walter chuckled softly; he leaned Toby back and placed a hand against his face. "Time to meet your maker, friend..."

"Wait!" Toby cried, desperately, "What do you want, Sullivan? Just name your price! Whatever you want, I can get you, I swear it! Please, just don't kill me, I beg you! Please!"

Walter tilted his head. "Anything?"

"Yes. ANYTHING!"

"Can you just ... die?" And with that, Walter pushed him off of the cliff. He waved the man farewell. "_Adiós_ ... "

Toby screamed as he plummeted 100 feet below and his body landed onto the roof of a car with a loud smash, shooting glass into the air. The alarm system blared out loudly for every home to hear. Several people stepped outside and saw the bleeding, broken form of Toby lying on the smashed car.

"_¡Ah mi Dios, no!_" a man screamed.

Another man stepped out of his house, half asleep with his wife standing beside him. "_¿Qué pasa? ¡Es cuatro por la mañana!_" he muttered. When they looked up at the sight of the bloody corpse, their eyes widened and they screamed. "_¿Qué sucedió? ¡Ah mi Dios!_"

Walter stood on the cliff edge with an impassive, dead look before he smiled wickedly and walked away.

_South Ashfield_

Joseph had never felt such pain in his entire life.

Despite his medallions and candles, it seemed that the more he tried to keep them at bay, the stronger they got. The room itself was nearly alive with spiritual entities and powerful forces that he couldn't keep at bay forever. He scribbled his messages on his hands that he thought could help him after finding bits and pieces of Walter's diary carved on the stones of Wish House. It was nearly bordering on obsession, but he didn't care anymore. This whole thing had become his life now. He had no way to go back to normality or his daily routine. He had been in this room for too long and with no signs of leaving.

_I don't think I can protect myself. He's truly insane. I can't hold on any longer. His power can't be measured. I was so scared that I sealed off the back of the storage room. I wonder if Eileen Galvin is okay. She has no idea what's going on ... But she's in danger nevertheless. I just know it ..._

Joseph stood up, carrying one of the glowing white candles to his kitchen where he paused at the door, sensing something there. Carefully and robotically, Joseph placed the candle on the counter top before he moved slowly toward the eye hole of the door. To his shock, Walter was standing on the other side, watching him with a pleased smile on his face. For a moment, neither one of the men moved from their places.

"What do you want from us?" Joseph demanded, beating his hands on the door, "What do you want?"

Walter was still for a moment before he glanced to the side and a slow smile slithered onto his lips. Joseph followed his gaze as far as he could. He could hear Eileen on the other side of the wall, laughing at something. Without a care in the world. He began to add it up and glared at Walter with burning rage.

"No. You stay away from her." he snarled. He beat his fists against the door. "Do you hear me? You stay the _hell _away from her!"

Walter just chuckled quietly and walked away, leaving a very angry Joseph to beat on the door uselessly.

O

_Note_- It's been some time, but hopefully, this chapter will intrigue. I haven't had many reviews for this story in a while. I hope you guys are still in to it.

_Es siempre tan fuerte. Deseo que acabe de salir. _- "He's always so loud, I wish he'd just leave."

_¡Oye! Toma a sus amigos y va. ¡Es demasiado fuerte! _- "Hey! You take your friends and go. You're too loud!"

_Puede sentirse la mal que lo rodea..._ - "You can feel the evil surrounding him..."

_Si... La cosechadora anda en su sombra._ - "Yes... The reaper walks in your shadow."

_Queme en el infierno._ - "Burn in hell."

_Quemaremos juntos entonces. _- "We'll burn together then."

_Adiós._ - "Bye."

_¡Ah mi Dios, no!_ - "Oh my God, no!"

_¿Qué pasa? ¡Es cuatro por la mañana!_ - "What's going on? It's four in the morning!"

_¿Qué sucedió? ¡Ah mi Dios! _- "What happened? Oh my God!"


	17. Giver of Wisdom

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer**: I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

_"She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..."_

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Chapter Fifteen: Giver of Wisdom**

_South Ashfield_

There was no hope left anymore.

Joseph had wandered every corner of the otherworld and found nothing to save himself from this horrible fate. He knew that he had to keep writing, though. Keep writing and hope that if he didn't make it out alive, someone else would and put an end to this madness.

Days were running into months.

Joseph had little to no grasp on reality any longer. He stepped into what was once his living room, the walls covered in a rust - like color and even blood. Worst of all, his front door looked to be sealed absolutely shut by the rusty substance. His windows were closed in the same way, and even despite all of that, every electronic still worked. The water flowed and the lights remained as dim as ever. Worst of all, it was absolutely hot. Joseph could barely breathe against the heat that smothered him. He only got a semblance of relief when he crawled through the hole, but even that was short lived because he couldn't very well just roam the other world forever.

But looking at his situation, that might have been what would happen.

_What's with this room? It's covered in blood and rust ... This is my room ... But what the hell has happened to it ... ? This room ... Is it really my room...? It's in terrible shape ... The air is so heavy ... My head hurts ..._

Joseph turned toward the front door and tried to peer through it, but it became harder to see now through the brown grime. "Damn it ... !" he cursed.

When he turned, he noticed a shape in his wall. It looked almost like a tortured face pressed into the wall. Joseph carefully approached it, squinting. He had never seen it before, but it looked like the blackish mark that had appeared when he had moved in, back when things made sense.

Joseph wished that he could go back to that day. Back to that familiar light.

Instead of letting that face image bother him, he moved back into his bedroom to search for his diary scraps. One particular note that he had written down hastily a few days ago had him constantly pondering.

_The Crimson Tome_

_"Bury part of the Conjurer's mother's flesh within the true body of the Conjurer."_

_Part of the flesh = super's room? _

Joseph had no idea what it meant, but from his study of the Crimson Tome, it had something to do with this Conjurer who was no doubt Walter Sullivan. It made sense considering all that had gone on and how the victims were killed by his hand.

_No. 1 ...Ten heart ..._

_No. 2 ... Ten ..._

_No. 3 ... Ten hearts ..._

_No. 4 ... Ten hearts Steve Garl ..._

_No. 5 ... Ten ..._

_No. 6 ... Ten heart ..._

_No. 7 ... Ten hearts Billy Locane_

_No. 8 ... Ten hearts Miriam Locane_

_No. 9 ... Ten hearts ..._

_No. 10 ... Ten ..._

_No. 11 ... Assumption Walter Sullivan_

_No. 12 ... Void ..._

_No. 13 ... Darkness ..._

_No. 14 ... Gloom ..._

And then, Joseph sat down, writing down the remaining victims who would be killed next. He grimly worked the pen against the paper, forming the words as hastily and messily from his shaking hand. He closed his eyes briefly, seeing flashes of blood, screaming faces, bruised skin and electrocuted flesh. He could still smell the decay and the blood in his head from the visions. The horrible images that plagued his mind.

_No. 15 ... Despair Joseph Schreiber_

_No. 16 ... Temptation Cynthia Velasquez_

_No. 17 ... Source Jasper Gein_

_No. 18 ... Watchfulness Andrew DeSalvo_

_No. 19 ... Chaos Richard Braintree_

_No. 20 ... Mother Eileen Galvin_

_No. 21 ... Wisdom Henry Townshend _

He was next. There was no doubt in his mind that his time was near. He had recently heard about the body of 14/21 discovered in Mexico; some poor drug dealer who had crossed paths with Walter Sullivan. Not that it was seen by him. For some reason, the hole only took Joseph where HE wanted him to go.

_"Hehehe ... "_

A laugh made Joseph halt in his writing. He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder cautiously before reaching for a candle in his desk. He only had a few matches left and had to use them sparingly, lasting for as long as he could in this nightmare.

When he exited his room, he discovered a shade there, right in the living room. It was a little boy, a boy who looked just like he did when he was a child. The boy stared up at him with sad, heavy eyes and Joseph kept a safe distance to avoid the all-ensuing headache that came with these terrible "hauntings".

"Why are you so sad?" the boy asked, softly, "Don't be so sad. It will all be over soon."

Joseph could say nothing because he saw the blood on the haunting's hands. It wasn't a surprise to see the blood there. Joseph had always told himself every day what an accident it had been since THAT DAY, but he couldn't bring himself to tell anybody about what had happened. He was attacked and all he could do was defend himself. The thing that had burdened him his entire life. Everyone thought that he was a good man.

They were wrong.

The pain and sorrow of what he had done haunted him even here.

"It was an accident ... " Joseph whispered, shakily, "Go away ... I didn't mean what I did ... "

The boy touched his own blood-drenched hands and looked straight ahead, that same heavy sorrow still visible in his eyes. "I wonder what would have happened if daddy never attacked me like that ... " he said, as if Joseph wasn't even standing there, "I wonder what would have happened if he hadn't been holding that knife ... If I hadn't tripped him ... If he hadn't fallen onto it ... If it hadn't sliced into his ribs and stabbed his heart ... If he hadn't hurt mommy the way he did and made me do that ... "

Joseph dropped the candle and shrieked, holding his head in both hands. "It's a lie!" he shouted, "It's all a lie!"

"Is it, son?"

Joseph looked up and the boy was backing away grimly as the very image of his father appeared there in a fog of blackish smog. His denim jacket was soaked with blood and his cargo pants torn to pieces. The aged, rugged features were almost Joseph's in every way. His father looked empty of emotion, dark with menace. He placed a tender hand on the boy's shoulders and his fingers seemed to tighten their hold.

"You did this, son," he whispered, smirking, "You were chosen because of it. Embrace death and let it rot your eye sockets so the demons of hell can skull fuck you for all eternity!"

Joseph reached for the candle, quickly lit it and thrust it in the faces of the specters and they immediately disappeared with anguished howls. Joseph stood there for a long time, arms and legs shaking. Sweat trickled down the length of his brow and he stared at the placed that the hauntings used to occupy, his heavy breathing the only sounds left in the room.

After a long moment, the room seemed to spin and he staggered weakly to his bedroom, collapsing into exhaustion and sorrow.

_Dream_

Joseph was standing in complete darkness.

"Hello?" he called, to the emptiness.

Sounds of various kinds filled the air; monkey screeches, dog wailing and ghostly moans before until a collection of doors appeared rapidly before him. They seemed to have been related to his apartment building, but there were no people. He was by himself. The doors seemed to go on forever down the dark, dampened hallways of the dream realm that was South Ashfield Heights. Joseph wasn't too sure if he had to choose a door or not.

"_Jooooossseeeephhh ... _"

There was a haunting, eerie voice calling for him from one of the doors in the hallway. Joseph furrowed his brow and didn't see a strange shape appear from behind him. It was a lanky humanoid monster attached to the wall at the waist without any kind of face whatsoever. It seemed to watch Joseph approach the door labeled "302" and it disappeared into the wall again as he slowly and cautiously reached for the doorknob.

"_Joseph, you look so tired ..._ " The voice was definitely coming from behind the door of his apartment.

Joseph closed his eyes calmly, trying to keep his fear down. He knew the sweet cal voice all too well. "I'm not. I'm not tired at all."

"_Aww, don't lie_," the voice whispered, "_Sleep now and everything will be better ..._ " The voice resembled Walter's. "_Sleeeeepp ... Sleeeeeppp ..._ "

When Joseph's eyes opened, he blinked with horror at the sight of the humanoid wall creature now there in the door; a PART of the door itself. It reached out, snarling in Walter's voice despite having no lips or eyes.

"SLEEP LIKE MOTHER!"

The creature grabbed him tightly and he screamed as he was yanked into its body, almost smothered by the disgusting heat and smell of its putrid flesh. Instead, he found himself carried into pitch darkness where a roaring creature lurked. It looked like the top half of a monstrous humanoid corpse, draped with grey, rotten flesh that didn't seem to quite fit over its body correctly. It was suspended from the ceiling by chains and long strands of tubing similar to umbilical cords.

Surrounding it were various human corpses encased in what looked like stone. Their bodies had been punctured with spears.

Joseph's eyes grew wide in shock. "What is this?" he gasped, stunned.

And then, he was falling.

Waiting below was a gigantic worm-like monster with a massive tooth-filled maw. It roared loudly, snapping him up.

Joseph awoke from his dream, screaming. He was back in his room, soaked in sweat and still shaking wildly from his nightmare. But now that he had seen what he saw in dream, he knew what he had to do to warn the "Receiver".

But just as he got out of bed, a dull scream filled the air; masculine and terrified. Joseph froze in his spot before quickly moving to investigate the source of the sound. When he stepped out of his room and into the living room, the heavy air nearly dropped him onto his ass. He swayed back and forth against the pain in his head, the walls around his room seemingly pulsing with blood and gore. In front of him, the face in the wall moved and twitched as the ghostly, shuddering form of Jimmy Stone tore through as if the wall was made of paper.

Joseph groaned weakly, feeling his legs collapse. He stumbled into a kitchen chair as the groaning creature crawled toward him.

_It's so cold ..._

Its hands grabbed his leg and he instantly felt ice shooting up his body, numbing him. The ghost moved over him, grabbing his face, reaching into his chest with one hand to seize the pulsing, rapidly beating organ of life.

_I can't ... I can't breathe ..._

_Shit ... I'm dying ..._

_No ..._

_Oh God ... my heart ..._

_My ... hear ..._

_N ..._


	18. Epilogue

**Bless the Child**

**Disclaimer**: I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists). The last song here is "Room of Angel" by Akira Yamaoka.

_"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."_

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

_"Go then, there are other worlds than these."_

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

**By: VampireQueenAkasha**

_"She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..."_

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

**Epilogue**

_Two Years Later ..._

Room 302 was empty now.

There were no signs of blood, ghosts or anything disturbing. It looked like a normal, ordinary apartment.

It was as if the events that Joseph Schreiber had dealt with never even happened. Outside the sun was shining brightly through the clear, pristine windows and children were happily playing games in the parking lot. Richard was sitting on the back porch of his apartment, staring irritatedly out at the children before he gathered a newspaper up in his hands and sulked his way back inside. He stepped out into the hallway where Henry Townshend walked by, carrying bags of groceries.

"Hey, you seen that little brat who kicked my tires?" he snapped.

Henry laughed sheepishly and shook his head. "N - No."

Richard shrugged his shoulders. "Well hell, you're no fun." he murmured, somewhat amused and irritated at the same time.

He walked off and Eileen Galvin stepped up with a chuckle, arms folded across her chest. "Give him time, Richard will warm up to you." She looked up at Henry. "Move into room 302 huh? Right beside my apartment."

Henry smiled uneasily and nodded. Associating was never one of his strong suits. "Yeah."

"Well careful," Eileen joked, turning to go, "I hear the last guy disappeared from that room."

Henry watched her go, a warm blush coloring his cheeks. She was a pretty woman, he couldn't deny that. Maybe if he had the nerve to really ask, he could tell her to go on a date with him or something. Maybe just a movie.

Henry entered his apartment and placed the groceries onto the counter. After a moment, he paused and heard a small whispering sound, like some one calling his name. But he wasn't sure if he was just hearing things.

Out in the hallway, Richard was leaning against the doorway of his apartment before he looked over and noticed a little boy standing on the very end of the hallway. He watched Richard with an empty, rather cold look before disappearing around the corner. Richard frowned suspiciously before he walked back into his apartment and closed the door behind him. Outside, he could see the little boy walking around, seemingly alone.

"Hmph, stupid brat ... " Richard growled.

And finally, the boy looked straight at him ...

... and smiled.

_You lie, silent there before me._

_Your tears, they mean nothing to me,_

_The wind howling at the window,_

_the love you never gave,_

_I give to you,_

_Really don't deserve it,_

_but now, there's nothing you can do._

_So sleep, in your only memory_

_and weep, my dearest mother..._

_Here's a lullaby to close your eyes._

_[Goodbye]_

_It was always you that I despised._

_I don't feel enough for you to cry, [oh no]_

_Here's a lullaby to close your eyes,_

_[Goodbye],_

_[Goodbye],_

_[Goodbye],_

_[Goodbye]._

_So insignificant, sleeping dormant deep inside of me,_

_are you hiding away, lost, under the sewers,_

_maybe flying high, in the clouds?_

_perhaps you're happy without me..._

_So many seeds have been sown in the field,_

_And who could sprout up so blessedly,_

_If I had died I would never felt sad at all,_

_I would have never felt sad at all,_

_You will not hear me say 'I'm sorry'_

_where is the light, wonder if it's weeping somewhere?_

_Here's a lullaby to close your eyes,_

_Goodbye_

_It was always you i despised._

_I don't feel enough for you to cry, oh no,_

_Here's a lullaby to close your eyes,_

_Goodbye,_

_Here's a lullaby to close your eyes,_

_Goodbye_

_It was always you I despised._

_I don't feel enough for you to cry, oh no,_

_Here's a lullaby to close your eyes,_

_Goodbye,_

_Goodbye,_

_Goodbye,_

_Goodbye._

_Here's a lullaby to close your eyes,_

_Goodbye_

_It was always you that I despised._

_I don't feel enough for you to cry, oh no,_

_Here's a lullaby to close your eyes._

_Goodbye._

_Here's a lullaby to close your eyes._

_Goodbye_

_It was always you that I despised._

_I don't feel enough for you to cry, oh no,_

_Here's a lullaby to close your eyes._

_Goodbye,_

_Goodbye,_

_Goodbye,_

_Goodbye._

**THE END**


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